Dragon's Fire (Revived)
by Exmongum
Summary: Five years ago, the Dragonborn was captured in an Imperial Ambush. Over the next two years, he would become the Hero of Skyrim. Stopping ever increasing threats to the world. But three years ago, he vanished from public life. Now, Hern Hammerhand receives not one, but two important messages. Rated M for language and violence. Adopted with permission from Jackalope89.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Hey there everyone. This is the adopter of this story, Exmongum. I am just letting you guys know that the first thirteen chapters were written by Jackalope89, and that I have received their intended intended future plot-points. I fully intend to fulfill these plot-points as well as I can. I hope I can reach all of your expectations.

Prologue

Three years ago, Skyrim, home of the Nords, was attacked by dragons for the first time in thousands of years. The dragons were not only led by, but revived by the oldest and most powerful of their kind; The World Eater, Alduin. The fear, terror, and chaos sowed by these creatures terrified the people that called the province home. The dragons ran amok, fearing nothing that the petty mortals could do to them. That was, until, the Dragonborn came!

A warrior of great renown, courage, skill, and bravery, the Dragonborn became more and more powerful after each dragon he slew. During his journeys, the Dragonborn met and befriended many groups, often rising to the top of each order, strengthening them like never before. He learned their skills, and even surpassed the greatest members of each group.

Finally, the Dragonborn confronted Alduin, in the realm of Sovengarde. Together, with great heroes of the past, he slew the World Eater! His name grew, but he had not done it alone, though it had been his blade to fell the great dragon. He had help from friends. Among them an ancient vampire who had been in hiding for millennia. The Companions, whom were the first group to take him in and train him, whose deeds were renowned throughout Tamriel. The Mage's College, where he had begun as an apprentice, but rose through the ranks and unparalleled speed. The Thieves' Guild, whom he had built back up into what they were in their glory days. And many more.

But after defeating Alduin, stopping the Stormcloak Rebellion by defeating its leader, halting a crazed vampire with the help of the vampire's own daughter and an organization dedicated to protecting humanity from the undead, and even stopping the First Dragonborn, Miraak from returning to wreak havoc upon the world, the Dragonborn, vanished. Few knew what he looked like underneath his helm. Those that did, would not say who or where he was, for he had done what he set out to do, and returned peace to the land…

Chapter 1. Quiet Life No More

In a cozy home, in a thriving city called Whiterun, sat a Nord. A somewhat tall and well-built Nord, as they tend to be, was sitting in his chair, reading a book with some Firebrand Wine on hand. The fire in the fire pit keeping the house pleasantly warm. And unlike most Nords, this one preferred the quiet life, despite having had been the Dovakhiin, in public, a few years before.

In a room adjoined to the kitchen, came the sound of _*thwack* *thwack*_ as two children, who had been taken in by the Nord a few years prior, were having a private training session, but normally trained with the Companions. Although this Nord was too young to be the father of either of child, he was proud of whom both were growing into.

Lucia, an Imperial girl who had been cast out by her uncle and aunt after her own parents had passed, had been the first to be taken in by the Nord. When he first found her, she was quiet and shy, and often bullied by some of the other children. Now, she was in training with Aela the Huntress of the Companions, and had grown bolder since being taken in. To the point where the children that had bullied her, either left her alone, or had come to respect her and became her friends.

The boy, the adopted brother of Lucia, was Blaise. Both of his parents had been in the Imperial Legion, but had been killed in an ambush. He had been given a place to sleep in the stables outside of Solitude, but had not wanted pity. Blaise was headstrong, stubborn, and almost too prideful when the Nord had come across him. The Nord had made a personal note that the boy's parents should not have both been in the Legion at the same time, so the boy would not have been in the situation he was now, but it was too late for that now. When the Nord had brought the Breton boy home, he had gotten into a number of fights with other children. But the Nord had taught Blaise a few important, if humbling, lessons, often involving the follies of too much pride. Now, Blaise was becoming a quick study. Learning not only how to fight with his fists, but with his mind as well. And Blaise hoped to learn magic either from Serana or his father to further this.

Although young enough to be an older brother to both children, the Nord let them call him 'father', 'papa', or whatever they wanted. Though it did make the Nord feel like an old man at times, when he was only about ten years older.

As for other orphaned children, the Dragonborn, who had plenty of influence before leaving the public life, had made personal inquiries for them to go to good homes, or at least to the orphanage under Constance Mitchell, a kind woman who would look after children until homes could be found. And a civil war often left plenty of orphans.

Behind the reading Nord however, was a certain old friend who was not very happy with how lackadaisical her friend had become over the last few years. And she was going to let him have a piece of her mind. Again.

"Get up you big oaf!"

"Gaah!" The Nord jumped out of his chair, onto the ground, completely taken by surprise. "Serana! What in Oblivion was _that_ for!? I was almost to the best part!" The Nord looked forlornly at his book, which had ended up in the fire.

Serana pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration, "You've read that book at least ten times. Ten times! All you do anymore is read, drink, and sleep. Day in and day out. You were given a chance to be someone in charge out there, someone who has the power to make a difference! Though, the only good thing you've done is spend time with Blaise and Lucia, I give you that much."

The Nord picked himself off the ground with agility that belied his size, and dusted himself off, "Your point?"

"You used to do a lot of good. Helping people, stopping bandits, saving the world. And last I checked, you were made Thane of Skyrim, a hero to everyone, and even extended an invitation to the capitol that still stands, maybe even as a possible new Emperor!" Yelled the vampire, her eyes glowing with frustration.

The Nord took one last look at what had been his book, before turning back to his friend, "Yeah, well I was kind of thrown into that life. You know I never cared for titles or anything like that. In truth, this is all I've wanted. A peaceful life. Especially one without the world needing to be saved every other day. Thanks to Balgruuf, the other Jarls, and a few others, I've been able to have that life. One that doesn't require me running from one end of Skyrim to the other. And besides, like you said, I'm able to spend more time with Lucia and Blaise."

Serana shook her head. While it was a good thing that the children now had a constant parental figure in their life that made sure, in extreme events, they can even look after themselves, the Nord often put all other responsibilities off.

"You mean a lazy, _milk-drinker's_ life? A fat king's life? And yet, you thrived _out there_. Helping people. Restoring order. Making people see reason. Keeping the peace! Not in here, or one of your other houses. You and I BOTH know that, Hern Hammerhand."

Hern flinched a little. Serana only used his full name when she was mad at him. She often acted like the older, much older, sister he never had, and this was one of those times. Ever since he had found her in a, what he had called 'a very uncomfortable looking bed in the ground', the two had grown quite close on their adventures. It had never gone beyond friends, for a few reasons (though both felt something, neither brought it forward), but they considered each other family at the very least. And while he hated to admit it, the vampire in front of him did have a point. But that didn't mean he would capitulate so easily.

"What about Blaise and Lucia though? You said it yourself, I am spending more time with them now than I could before," he tried, in vain though.

Serana gave her friend a deadpan look. "Yeah, you are. But half the time they're training with the Companions or learning other skills. YOU on the other hand, have become lazy, complacent, and-"

Hern drowned her out in his head. Thinking back to when he first came to Skyrim, at eighteen and looking to make a new home for himself. He had grown up in Cyrodil, but had never liked the big city. But shortly after crossing the border, his life had been completely turned upside down. Granted, it hadn't been all bad, like Serana (despite her nagging at him), Blaise, Lucia, and some of his friends. But unlike many of his Nordic brethren, fighting had not been one of his main goals, despite natural talents at it, amongst many other talents that came naturally to him. He suddenly felt a sharp stabbing pain in his neck.

"Ow!"

Serana leaned back, a small trickle of blood came from her mouth, but her face showed her annoyance, "That's what you get for tuning me out, again."

Now, most people would be worried about contracting Sanguinare Vampiris, or the disease that turns one into a vampire, particularly if just casually bit by a Vampire Lord, but Hern wasn't most people. Like his friend, he had his own special transformation, aside from Serana and the children, only a very few and trusted knew about it, as most people would have rather unpleasant reactions. Like trying to bury a sword into his belly. While it made him not particularly resilient to silver, and grew hair in places hair normally never grows on a human, it had many benefits to it. Like being immune to diseases. Though if he wanted, he could allow himself to be turned. But he only used his werewolf form in certain situations.

Hern sighed, but before he could say much else, a knock came at the door. Hern and Serana both looked at each other quizzically as it was nearly supper and they weren't expecting company.

"Come in!" Called the vampire.

"Hey, I bought the house," fake-whined Hern, then turned to the door himself, "Come in!"

In came Lydia, a longtime friend to the four residents of the house, whom, with the blessings of Hern, had joined the Companions a couple years prior. Yet she always stayed in touch to the person that had been her Thane.

"Hern, Serana, I hope you and the children are doing well?" asked the former Housecarl. But she was soon mobbed by the two children whom had both come in to see what the ruckus was about, which at first was the usual bickering. But had grown excited to see Lydia who had often taken care of them when Hern and Serana had been out running around Skyrim, making sure everything didn't go straight to Oblivion.

The vampire and werewolf both let out laughter, as their friend had to nearly fight off both kids. They had seen her take on giants, mammoths, bandits, vampires, and even dragons. But a couple of children could tackle her down, no problem.

"We're doing fine Lydia, but what brings you here at this hour?" asked Hern.

"Well, I was on my way back from a quest with Aela to clear some bandits out that had camped just across the river, when we came upon an Imperial messenger."

Hern had a sinking feeling that he knew where this was going, an instinct he had developed over the years since coming to Skyrim, and whispered, "No." To which Serana could only smile at Hern's discomfort.

Lydia continued, "He told us he was bringing a message for someone in Whiterun, but wasn't sure where the house was."

Hern spoke a little louder, eye beginning to twitch. "No." Serana's smile got a little bigger, eyeing the Nord.

"So we asked if we could see who it was addressed to, and when he showed us, it was you Hern. It has the Imperial Crest on it, so I brought it the rest of the way," finished Lydia.

"FUCK!" Shouted Hern, but was quickly reprimanded by Serana, with a punch in the shoulder, mainly because of Hern's language around the children. Hern felt it may bruise, but the children couldn't help but laugh a little.

"Yeah yeah, yuck it up you two," said Hern, while under his breath he said, "See if I get you two any sweet rolls for a week or so."

Serana and Lydia both bent over the momentarily distraught children and said, "Don't worry, we'll get you sweet rolls."

Hern could only grumble at it, while Blaise and Lucia cheered.

Lydia handed the letter to Serana, and told the group, "Goodnight! I need to meet back up with Aela at Jorrvaskr, so I can't stay long. It was nice seeing you all again!" and went back to Jorrvaskr after the group had said their goodbyes.

Serana began opening the letter, but figuring he should just get this over with, Hern 'yoinked' the letter out of her hands, opened it and began reading it. Much to Serana's chagrin.

 _Hern 'Dragonborn' Hammerhand,_

 _Thane of Skyrim and Her Holds,_

 _Ysmir of the North,_

 _Slayer of Alduin,_

 _Legate of the Imperial Legion,_

 _Leader of the Companions,_

" _And a few more titles that that you'll never know,"_ thought Hern mockingly, but he wasn't wrong.

 _We have an emergency that requires your attention, and possibly of those you trust most, as you may need their help. We cannot afford to put into writing what the emergency is, as it may spread panic and fear. With the looming threat of the Thalmor and Skyrim still recovering from the Civil War, we believe it to be obvious why we would not. We implore you to make great haste to the Imperial Capital as soon as you can. We know we agreed three years ago to let you retire in peace, without exposing the man behind the helm, as thanks for your services with Alduin, the Civil War, the Volkihar threat, and much more, but this is something that a man of your talents is needed for. The guards will let you and your entourage in without fuss when you hand them this letter._

 _Signed,_

 _Masia Esdrena_

 _Elder Council Secretary_

"By the Nine!" Yelled Hern in frustration, "Knowing my luck, it'll be another damned 'world saving' thing I have to do, because everyone else will be too damned focused on something with much less significance!" He turned to the vampire whom had counseled him on many matters, "Wanna bet a thousand gold septims that's what it is?"

Serana gave him a knowing look, "Why would I bet against the same thing I was thinking?" and gave a laugh, which was soon followed by Lucia and Blaise.

Hern grumbled to himself again. "All I wanted was to read, sleep, eat, and not have to save the world for once. That too much to ask for?"

The family, odd as it was, sat down at the table and had a loud, but happy supper. While doing so, they made plans to travel to the Imperial City. As much as Hern loathed going, an Imperial Summons was an Imperial Summons. He would obviously take Serana with him, as she was one of his most powerful and trusted friends, and brigands still roamed the roads. The children really wanted to see the capitol city of the Empire, and after much nagging and bugging on the children's part, with some help from Serana, Hern agreed. But they would need a couple more companions, not so much for Hern or Serana, but to make sure kids would be okay.

That night, in bed, Hern had a dream. And not one he really wanted, like the one with a Bosmer woman and Redguard woman he'd had the other night. Or the one with delicious foods and wines from the Divine, whose taste was unrivaled. This one came from someone whom he had not spoken to in sometime.

Before Hern, appeared a woman taller than even an Altmer, bathed in light.

"Greetings again, my Champion. It has been some time since we last spoke," said a familiar voice.

"Oh, Meridia. Been a while. No more ghost things at your temple, right?" Responded Hern, taking a more casual voice to the Daedric Prince than most mortals would ever dare.

If the Daedric Prince wanted to give the Dragonborn a rude look, she held off. "No. But you have been summoned to the Imperial Capital. Know this-"

Hern rolled his eyes, "What is it this time? Deep sea monsters coming to land? One of your siblings attacking Nirn again? Your temple being taken over by Divine worshipping skeevers? Or is it something else?"

Meridia was silent for a moment, but spoke again, "You do know I could utterly break your mind here."

" _Crap. Over did it I guess."_ Hern didn't care much for most Daedric Princes, though Meridia was an exception, he had to admit. She hadn't yanked his chain when he helped her a few years back. Not to mention they both did not care for the undead. "Sorry about that."

Meridia let it go, for now, "I will overlook it this once, as you have done much to put the dead to rest for me. But as I was saying Champion, you must go to Paarthurnax and visit him before traveling to the capitol. For the mission you will receive from the capitol will, at one point, coincide with what your mentor will give you."

"Meridia, you and I both agree on at least one thing; that the dead should remain dead. Why are you so interested in this?" asked Hern, just wanting to get to the point.

"Because Champion, there is a force in the world that has not been seen in thousands of years. And they are resurrecting an army of the dead, to overrun the land of the living. More than this, I do not know. As if I am being blocked by one of my siblings or some other powerful force," replied Meridia.

That got Hern's attention. Serana, while a vampire, wasn't technically an 'undead'. Plus, she was much livelier than many who were considered 'alive' anyway. But draugr, ghosts, shades, and many other types of the dead resurrected had always been hostile, to say the least. But to raise an army of the dead, that was not good, not good at all.

"So, the Elder Council heard about this? How?" asked the Nord.

"By way of the Elder Scroll of the Sun. The Moth Priests have been studying it since you sent it to Cyrodil after your victory over the World Eater. As for your mentor, his mission comes from _Akatosh_ himself." Meridia spoke with a hint of venom about the Dragon God.

" _Meridia may not be evil like some of her siblings, but even she doesn't care much for the Nine."_ Thought Hern amusingly.

"Lovely, Meridia. Any other advice?"

"Yes, Champion. You may wish to take as many as you can with you on this journey. For this one, will be unlike any other. Make sure you bring along those you trust most, for this journey, you will need as many of those you can trust as you possibly can. As the dead won't be your only foe. More than this, I cannot say. Farewell Champion, for now, for we may meet again before this is over."

With that Hern woke up with a start, sitting up in bed. Realization hit him like a Frost Atronach's punch. "I _really_ hate it when they do that," he said, " _and always stingy with information,"_ he finished in his thoughts,not liking always waking up so suddenly every time a Daedric Prince left his dreams.

"Who do what?"

"Gah! Serana! Every time?" Hern asked, a little surprised that the vampire was standing next to his bed.

"You and I both know I enjoy it," said the Vampire, a hint of mischief in her voice and a smirk on her face, who had been silently keeping an eye on the person she had grown close to in her years since he freed her.

"You know, I've always wondered. Don't you get bored not needing to sleep?" asked Hern.

"You'd be surprised how often someone has tried to kill you while you sleep, Hern. It keeps me entertained." Said Serana, a knowing smile on her face again.

It had been an unspoken agreement, a rather one-sided one on Serana's part, between the two; that Serana would be the Dragonborn's unofficial bodyguard, mainly for when he was a sleep or otherwise indisposed. Hern went along with it because nearly anyone else wouldn't be so blunt with him, aside from a couple of the more senior members of the Companions, but they had their own duties. And Hern had his own, personal, reasons for letting her do so.

"So, who was it this time?" asked Serana, not letting it go, but having a decent idea of what happened.

"Meridia. Seems there's more to this blasted Imperial Mission than what even the Council may know."

"Not the worst of the Princes to talk to," pointed out Serana, trying to find the bright side.

"Yeah, but they have a bad tendency to do things their own way, the lot of them."

Serana couldn't help but smirk. Most people would barely even say or mention the word 'Daedra'. This man, granted in many ways, who was much more than just a mere mortal, took a far more callous and off-handed approach to not just Daedra, but even the Daedric Princes themselves. She had never really been able to tell if, when it came to dangerous situations, if he was just incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. She soon came to the conclusion it was a mixture of the two after meeting him. When the man had faced Alduin, challenged her father, and opposed Miraak, Hern hadn't even blinked. Though, the odd thing was, despite his attitude towards them, the Daedric Princes had not lashed out at the Dragonborn. Yet, at least.

"So, does this mean the return of the Dragonborn?" asked the vampire.

Hern sighed. He wasn't looking forward to it, as he would have to go out and do stuff again, but he replied, "Looks like it. I'll have to dig out my old armor. Maybe forge some new. And I'll have to gather up some people as well. But first things first, we're headed to the Greybeards."

Serana gave him a proud smile. Although when she had first met him, and helped her with her family 'issues', often giving her support of every kind, she was glad she could poke and prod him in the right direction (and for fun) when needed. A paying of her debts, in a way. He had even offered to help her cure herself of vampirism if she ever wanted to. All she had to do was let him know and he would be there. Serana wasn't quite ready to give it up yet, especially now with this new mission coming up, but she certainly appreciated the intent.

"Hern, get some sleep." Said the vampire.

"Yes mother. Ow!"

"I'm not your mother."

"Yeah, you could be my great-grandmother's, great-grandmother's, great-grandmother," said the Nord in a fake mocking tone, "Ow! Hey! No biting!" exclaimed Hern in false panic, grabbing his neck again.

It was one of the few downsides to having Lycanthropy. He had a very fast healing rate, but when one of your closest friends is a vampire that'll bite you if you get smart with her, it could become a literal pain in the neck.

"That's what you get for that 'grandmother' remark. Now, goodnight Hern." Serana went back to the hallway on the upper landing and took a seat, and read a book by candlelight. But always keeping her enhanced senses on full alert for any break-ins. She had lost one family, but she would be damned if she would let this one go to some cutpurse!

However, even she failed to notice the icy blue eyes from the cracked doorway she had just come from. Eyes that belonged to the person who vowed to keep her and the rest of his family safe. For those that attacked the family or friends of the Dragonborn, never lived long after. It was one thing that Hern kept secret from Serana, that ever since becoming a werewolf, sleep was merely a pleasure, rather than a necessity for him. He did so, as he was the only person she had ever told her entire story to.

Combined with his draconic nature and pack mentality from his werewolf side, Hern was fiercely protective of those closest to him. And he would be damned to the deepest depths of Oblivion if his kids suffered more, or Serana ever had to go through such pain that her father had put her through again. Or what from anyone for that matter. Those that attacked the family of the Dragonborn, felt the full wrath of a dragon. And so far, none of those that had threatened his family, had ever survived the wrath of the Dragonborn.

The next day, the family got up and began their preparations. First, they would make their way to Riften, to Ivarstead, and then up to the Throat of the World where Hern would meet with the old dragon Paarthurnax. But first, Hern had a few other messages to send out. The first was the easiest, as it was to the Companions, but he would come back through Whiterun to meet up with them first. The rest, other than one, he had to send to the various holds, by one or another means. The final letter he would deliver upon arrival in Riften.

Outside the gates, the group of four met up with Vilkas and Farkas, the twins of the Companions and close friends of Hern. The two would help make sure bandits stayed back without Hern having to reveal himself too early, as the last thing he wanted was for certain groups to get wind about him before he was ready.

The two brothers had complemented each other for years. Vilkas was the wiser of the two, but no pushover in a fight, while Farkas was the brawn, but no fool either. The two, along with Aela the Huntress, had taken over day-to-day operations of the Companions since Hern retired from the public, but Hern was still the Harbringer, the first named leader of the Companions since Ysgramor himself. Meaning that major quests were often brought to Hern through one of the three members.

At the stables, the group began grabbing their horses. Vilkas grabbed a brown horse while Farkas got a mottled one of brown and white. Serana, with Lucia behind her, was on top of a pure white horse named Frost. One of the best horses in the province, and second only to Hern's own, a pure black horse with glowing red eyes, Shadowmere, with Blaise sitting behind Hern. Hern was quite fond of the horse, it was faster, stronger, and far more intelligent than any other. But it could also be temperamental, and had to be convinced to let one other than Hern be on its back.

"I swear, every time I see that horse of yours Hern, I can't help but think it wants to take a bite out of me," said Farkas, eyeing Shadowmere a little warily.

"Nah. He prefers chicken stew," replied Hern with the offhanded comment. Shadowmere shook his head and turned it towards Hern, to which replied, "Well you do! No sense in being so sensitive about!"

Varkas could swear that he thought he saw the demonic horse give Hern an annoyed look, but shook it off. _"If Hern wants to ride that damned horse, let him. Probably the only one that can anyways. Farkas and I need to concentrate on the road ahead."_

Hern, rather than wear the armor he had grown famous in, had opted to wear a studded cuirass, iron helmet, iron boots, and iron gauntlets. When the others asked him why, all Hern did was shrug his shoulders and say, "Because I felt like it."

When the group was ready, they took off, waving to the occasional Hold Guard that they came across. They met little trouble along the way, aside from the occasional bothersome Frostbite Spider or troll, which were dealt with quite easily.

When they arrived in Riften, it was growing dark. Hern led them to the inn and after getting a few rooms, headed out to chat with some old friends with Serana, while the others ate their meals and listened to the local bard play a song they were all familiar with.

Our hero, our hero

Claims a warrior's heart

I tell you, I tell you

The Dragonborn comes

With a Voice wielding power of the ancient Nord art

Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes

It's an end to the evil of all Skyrim's foes

Beware, beware the Dragonborn comes

For the darkness has passed

And the legend yet grows

You'll know, you'll know the Dragonborn's come

"Well pups, it seems your father is still remembered fondly," said Vilkas, after the bard finished and the room applauded.

Lucia and Blaise nodded. Even back in Whiterun, the bards would play The Dragonborn Comes fairly often. Though most never associated the Hero of Skyrim with the lackadaisical Nord that was their adoptive father.

"Isn't there another song that's been making its way around about him?" asked Farkas, setting down his bottle of mead.

"Can't say, though it wouldn't surprise me." Responded the other twin, "He certainly has enough fans. I'm almost jealous. Almost."

"What do you mean Vilkas?" asked Blaise.

"Well kids, the reason why he went into retirement is so that the both of you could live a normal life, without being swarmed by his admirers," answered Vilkas.

"Yeah, and that most women, some of them single even, want to have the next Dragonborn," jested Farkas.

"And you two wonder why I have to keep a close eye on you," came Serana's voice. She had returned in the midst of the conversation, and silently made her way to the table.

"Hey Serana. Uh, sorry about. Won't happen again," Farkas said, a little nervously. Few things could startle Companion, but Serana was at the top of the list of those few things.

Serana folded her arms across her chest, a disapproving look on her face, "Yeah, you've said that the last hundred times. Yet, here you are, doing it again."

"My brother. Always has a way of sticking his foot in his mouth," laughed Vilkas, and was soon joined by the kids and even Serana.

"Where's father, Serana?" asked Lucia.

"He'll be along shortly. His meeting is taking a little longer than what he thought it would," replied the Vampire.

"Not too long though at least," came Hern's voice.

The group looked to where it came from, and saw Hern close the door behind him, and took a seat at the table.

"How'd your meeting go?" asked Farkas, trying to sound indifferent, but a slight bit of contempt could be heard.

"It went well enough. They'll be meeting us on our trip back," replied Hern, cutting some meat on his plate. "I know The Companions don't much care for them, but I have a feeling we'll be needing their abilities Farkas."

"As much as it pains me to say, Hern is right brother." Vilkas wasn't thrilled either, but he could see why they would need the help of such people if what Hern said was true.

"At least you boys aren't trying to start a brawl," Serana commented with amusement.

Farkas folded his arms across his chest, as if put off by the comment, "We don't start fights. We finish them."

"True, Farkas. And that's why I'm glad for you and your brother's assistance with this," said Hern, finishing his meal. "In the meantime, how about we all get some shut eye for the night? You should too, Serana. I know you don't actually need it, but a little rest never hurt anyone."

Serana scoffed a little, "Oh? Worried about me nodding off while on the Seven Thousand Steps?"

Hern's eyes widened, "That was one time! I didn't know someone had slipped some sleeping potion into my mead!"

Serana wasn't done, and in the most casual tone, "A sleeping potion? No. That was the same stuff you had with that Sam guy a while back. And then you woke up next to a frost troll the next morning in nothing but your underclothes."

Everyone got a good laugh, even some of the neighboring tables. While Hern's cheeks flushed a little at the experience, he couldn't help but join in, and took a swig of the mead in front of him.

That night, after everyone had gone to bed, Hern stayed up in his room. He had certain business to discuss. And although Serana knew of his involvement with the group, the person he was about to contact didn't particularly care for the vampire.

"Lucien! Come on out, I know you're there," called Hern, quietly but firmly.

Before him, what looked like smoke began taking shape before him, but then turned into a spectral figure.

Lucien bowed a little to the Listener, "Ah, Listener. It has been a while. I assume you have a message for me to deliver?"

"I do, Lucien. Have the Brotherhood meet up with the Thieves' Guild in _that place_. Tell them to bring _her_ too."

Lucien had a confused look on his face, "Listener, whatever for? The new Sanctuary is thriving. You mean for us to abandon it?"

"No, Lucien. I do not. But I fear I may be going a very long way for a very long time, and I think I'll need all the help I can get. Besides, I know for a fact the Sanctuary has become rather crowded as of late. But let Nazir and Babbette know at least, if no one else is around. The rest will listen to them," explained Hern.

Lucien bowed again to Hern, "It shall be done, Listener." With that, the ghostly form of the assassin vanished without a trace.

Hern sat back in his chair, glad it went smoothly, and began going over everything in his head. _"The letters should be getting to the rest by now, and Serana took care of her letter. Next stop, Ivarstead."_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2. The Dragonborn Returns!

The following morning, the group made their way to the little town of Ivarstead. With the twins and children humming the tune to 'Ragnar the Red'. Serana had elected to be the rear guard while the twins had the kids riding with them, and Hern led the way. They would occasionally spot a deer or a fox, but thus far, it had been an uneventful second leg of their journey.

Until they came to a bend in the road where several bandits had formed up. The leader, a Breton from what Hern could tell, carried a fairly decent looking steel war hammer. _"I knew the peaceful trip wouldn't last. Maybe these fools will leave?"_ Behind the Breton was an Orc, a couple of Nords, and a couple of Bosmer. One of the Bosmer, a woman, stood a little to the side of the other bandits, with unusually long sleeves under her armor for one of the more temperate areas of Skyrim. Hern made a note of that.

"Halt, _friend_ ," said the Breton, "There's a nice little toll to go past this part of the road. Fifty septims each, including the brats." The smile that formed on the bandit leader's face, was all Hern needed to know that these bandits had no intention of letting them past.

"Ah, good ser. I'm afraid we've no money. Just simple pilgrims to High Hrothgar," tried Hern. He had been taught that the best lies, often had a bit of truth to them.

The Breton's smile turned wicked, "That's fine. We'll just take everything else you have then."

Hern sighed to himself. He had hoped to avoid bandits, but nope. They just had to make a nuisance of themselves. Hern hopped off Shadowmere and called to the twins, "Vilkas, Farkas, take Lucia and Blaise back to that little fishing area we passed. Serana, make sure none get by me."

"Oh? And what are you going to do?" asked Serana lazily, though she knew the answer.

"Gonna see how rusty I really am. Dagger or barehanded for these louts?"

"Hmm, don't want to press you too hard so soon, so try the dagger," suggest the vampire.

Hern pulled out a small, unassuming dagger, and gave the bandits one warning, "I'll give you fools one chance to sheathe your weapons and leave us be. Any who try and kill us, won't be leaving here alive." The way Hern had said it, not cold, but lazily, as if he thought of the bandits as nothing.

This only enraged the group. Here was this possible score, completely outnumbered, and he talked down to them! The one Bosmer just backed a little further from the group and oncoming fight, getting a very bad feeling from the man with the dagger.

"You skeever shit! We might have let you live if you had just handed over your valuables, but now we're gonna stick you like a pig!" Bellowed the Breton, raising his hammer.

The Breton took an overhead swing while charging Hern. Hern let the bandit get close enough, and when the hammer came down sidestepped to the side, letting the Breton's momentum carry him closer to Hern. Hern stepped into this, flipping the dagger in his hand, and with one clean slice, opened the Breton's throat, letting blood spurt out.

But right behind him were the Nords, while the Orc ran at Serana, wielding a war ax, while the one Bosmer that hadn't backed off had taken up a spot and pulled out a bow. Hern knew that bow could be a problem, but the Nords were more immediate. The first one, a woman wielding a great sword, tried a thrust, which Hern ducked under, and using his dagger, cut the tendon on the Nord's leg, dropping her to her knees, sword still in hand.

But before Hern could finish the first, the second one, wielding a mace and shield tried to bash Hern's skull in. Hern dodged it, and with a good thrusting kick, pushed the second Nord away long enough for Hern to end the suffering of the first Nord, by a quick thrust through the neck. Hern hated messy and slow kills. He preferred to at least end them quickly, if nothing else. The second Nord was coming at Hern again, but Hern noticed the bow-wielding Bosmer take aim. Hern dodged the shield bash from the Nord, stunned the bandit with a blow to the jaw, and spun the Nord in front of him to take the arrow from the Bosmer, which landed right in the diaphragm.

Hern dropped the body of the Nord bandit, and was about to take out the Bosmer when an ice spike bloomed in his chest. Hern glanced back, and saw the Orc with his throat ripped out and Serana with her mouth covered in blood.

"Got a little snack I see."

"Can you blame me? He was so eager to become my next meal. But Orcs tend to be kind of greasy, especially bandits," replied Serana.

"Fair enough." Hern turned his attention to the final Bosmer, who had seen the other bandits get killed in such quick succession, she hadn't quite processed it yet. But what really surprised the Bosmer, was that the dagger wielding man wasn't breathing hard or showing any signs of effort put in. And then the man sheathed his dagger and made his way over to her.

Hern studied the Bosmer who had, wisely, not attacked with the bandits. "Looks like you're smarter than your friends, miss…?"

"E-Elsen. Elsen Dornshade."

"Well Elsen, why didn't you try and attack us with your friends?" asked Hern.

A scowl appeared on Elsen's face. "They weren't my friends. Just a place to sleep at night."

Hern removed his helmet, to get some fresh air on his face. The helmet let him see well enough, but he preferred talking without one if the need called for it. "Probably not the best crowd to be around with. Especially for an escaped Thalmor prisoner."

Elsen's eyes widened in shock.

Hern took that reaction in. "Not many bandits wear such long sleeves in this area. Plus, I see you didn't even try and pull out your weapon. Most bandits sleep with them unsheathed, at hand. You look too scared to look at one, let alone wield it. And only the Thalmor would brand someone on their arms for the world to see."

Elsen didn't know if she should expect to be killed, tortured, or what by this man and his vampire companion.

Hern saw the fear in her eyes, and knew that fear could make people do stupid things, having seen plenty of it himself. "Look, you didn't attack us. And, well, let's just say the Thalmor and I don't exactly see eye to eye."

Serana rolled her eyes, "That's the understatement of the century."

"Yeah, pretty much." Hern dug through his satchel for a moment, and handed the Bosmer some septims. "Take that, get yourself a place to stay in Riften, and something better to wear, and go from there. I don't think you want to end up like those fools over there did."

Elsen was at a loss for words. This stranger, who had just been attacked by the bandits she had gotten stuck with, had not only spared her life, but given her some of his money! Why would anyone do that!?

Serana could only shake her head, knowing why Hern was doing this. She gestured that she was going to go get the twins and the kids, leading her horse around and headed back.

Hern watched Serana go, and turned back to the Bosmer, still on the ground, wonderment in her eyes.

"Why? Why would you do this?" asked the confused, if grateful Bosmer.

Hern sighed. "Let's just say I know what it's like to be a prisoner, and got lucky that someone gave me a second chance. Now you best get moving before a patrol comes through here." Hern turned to go back to Shadowmere, but felt something tug on his armor. Looking back, he saw Elsen hold on to it, with desperation in her face.

"What are you doing?" asked Hern, a bit at a loss for this.

Suddenly, Elsen knelt before Hern, shakily taking out an iron sword that was incredibly dull.

"B-by the w-will of A-Akatosh, and all of the Nine, I here do sweat my loyalty and allegiance to you!" Cried out the Bosmer.

" _Oh no. Not this!"_ And by now, Serana had led the others back and had just caught the, and they all were, particularly the adults, barely able to contain their laughter.

Hern sighed, and looked at the person who had just sworn her services to him, without even knowing his name. "Get up. No, don't give me that look, get up."

Hern leaned over, and after grabbing one of her arms, helped Elsen up. "Look Elsen. Before you get all serious on me, you should probably know a couple of things about the guy you just swore service to."

Elsen simply nodded, thinking she was ready for almost anything this man would say.

"First up, the name's Hern. Hern Hammerhand. The two big guys are Vilkas and Farkas. Members of the Companions. The kids behind them, are Lucia and Blaise, the kids I adopted. And the magnificent creature in black there? That's Shadowmere. Oh, and the bloodsucker is Serana." _THUNK!_ "Ow! Got it, got it." Hern rubbed his arm where the rock had hit it, thrown by a certain vampire.

"As for that oath? I won't hold you to it. You can still go on to Riften or wherever. Because if I tell you the last part about me, there is no walking away. So, what do you say?"

Elsen thought for a moment, which. For which Hern was glad, meaning she wasn't too impulsive at least. And then the Bosmer made her decision, "I said what I meant, and I meant what I said. You spared my life when you could have easily left my body amongst those others."

Hern looked reluctant, but his damned honor got in the way. "Okay then. I guess I should tell you. But what I am going to tell you, you do not go running around spreading it, unless I give it the go ahead. Deal?" Elsen nodded. "Very well. Elsen, welcome to the service of the Dragonborn." Plenty of reluctance in his voice. The poor Bosmer passed out right then and there, with those on their horses now bursting out in laughter at Hern's discomfort.

Bottom of the Throat of the World…

Elsen woke up, laid across the back of the white horse that the vampire was on, while climbing up the steps at the rear of the small train. When she realized this, she nearly rolled off, but was caught by Serana. "Be careful now. We don't want Hern's newest loyal servant to fall off the back of a horse on her first day."

Elsen, obviously, was quite unsettled by being at the mercy of a vampire, and Serana could hardly blame her. After all, most vampires, especially those that had been her family, hadn't exactly been friendly to non-vampires.

"Look Elsen. I'm not going to go around sucking everyone's blood or anything like that. If I was, I would have done that to a number of people a long time ago. Hern, well that's another matter."

Elsen was bit a taken aback by how, comforting, the vampire sounded. But just to be sure, she checked her neck, and to her relief, found nothing.

Serana chuckled a little. "Like I said. I don't just bite anyone. That Orc earlier? Him and the other bandits are what I usually go after. Though I sometimes take a little snack from our 'illustrious leader'."

Elsen was a bit comforted by that, but had to ask, "Why do you mock the Dragonborn? Isn't he a hero?"

Although Elsen couldn't see it, Serana had a smile on her face, one of true pride. "He is a hero, in more ways than most people probably know. But he's never wanted to be propped up like a hero, noble, lord, or anything like that. If he had things his way, he'd still be sitting in front of a fire, with a good drink, and a book. And he'd be happy with that. He's never cared much for responsibility, at least beyond Lucia and Blaise. But when it comes down to it, he'll step up and do what needs to be done."

This wasn't exactly how Elsen had pictured the Dragonborn, who's deeds had spread throughout Tamriel. Even amongst the Thalmor, as much as they hated to admit it, there was a grudging respect. Elsen had always thought the Dragonborn would be in a seat of power, an officer with the Imperial Army, or even in line to be the next Dragonborn Emperor. But to hear he would rather sit on his ass and read a book? She could hardly believe it. Elsen though, didn't get to stew on that thought for long, as an icy cold wind blasted them.

Serana dug in one of her bags for a moment, and pulled out a warm cloak, and handed it to the Bosmer, who looked back at her oddly. "Don't worry about me. The cold doesn't bother me much, for obvious reasons." To which Elsen could only nod to.

The farther up the mountain the group went, the colder it got. Thankfully, they had packed a number of warm cloaks and clothes. The only ones seemingly unaffected, by the cold and altitude, were Hern and Serana. Hern hadn't even bothered with a cloak, and stuck with the leather and iron armor, though his helmet was now strapped to his saddle.

"I don't know how you and Serana aren't frozen solid yet, but I feel like all my fur's frozen and ready to shatter," muttered Vilkas.

"Ah, that's because of such wonderful comments that complain about a little breeze that keep me warm," responded Hern, the sarcasm loud and clear. _"Not like it's my fault I've grown about immune to extreme temperatures,"_ thought Hern, somewhat grudgingly.

The trip on the way up was fairly uneventful, though Blaise and Lucia wanted to stop at all the tablet emblems, to read what they said. Even Elsen's curiosity got the best of her, and she had to see what they said too. Although only a few words were on each, the Bosmer could not help but feel a bit more fascinated after each one. Hern had already read each of them several times, though he couldn't help but swing his eyes to each one that they passed. Serana, Vilkas, and Farkas had all been up the mountain before with Hern, so knew what they said.

Higher and higher they climbed, until at last, they reached the home of the Greybeards, High Hrothgar. Elsen had never seen anything quite like it. It was simple, yet grand at the same time. Getting off the horses and leading them to a little alcove that had been constructed, the group made their way into the temple of the Greybeards.

Although it had been agonizingly cold outside, with the sun setting, the inside was comfortably warm to the group. The thick walls, doors, and lit braziers made for a fine counter to the cold outside.

Shortly after coming in, and most of the group removing their cloaks, four elderly men with long grey beards came towards them. The one in the lead, spoke to them, or rather, Hern in particular.

"Ah, Dragonborn. It is good to see you again. But I didn't think our message had reached you so soon."

"Arngeir, good to see you too," said Hern, shaking the elderly man's hand. With a quick wave to the other Greybeards, "As well as the rest of you." To which they simply nodded.

Blaise pulled a little on Serana's sleeve to get her attention. When Serana turned to him, Lucia was right there as well.

"Serana, why didn't the other Greybeards say 'hello' like that one did?" asked Blaise. Serana could see that Lucia had the same question as well.

"That's because they don't have full control over their power. They remain silent so as not to accidentally harm anyone, as violence is not their way," explained Serana. It had puzzled her when Hern first introduced her to the Greybeards. Men with enough power to bring down the mountain with their voices, yet would not hurt a fly if they could help it. Her father, the moment he had received any power, had been consumed by it. These men studied it, rather than let it control them.

Blaise and Lucia nodded, understanding, if slightly afraid if one of the other Greybeards sneezed. Although neither called Serana 'mother', she had basically filled that role since finishing her own family business several years ago. And both loved and respected her as much as they did their father. They just didn't know why the two parental figures in their lives hadn't married yet. All that they had been told was 'it's complicated'.

"As for your message Arngeir, I received a dream message a few nights ago. Along with an Imperial Summons to the capital." Hern showed the Greybeard the Summons he had received.

"Hmm. It seems you must speak to Paarthurnax immediately, so you can go to Cyrodil as fast as possible. But who visited your dreams? There are only a few… It was a Daedric Prince!?" The Greybeard was quite perplexed at this.

"Yeah. Meridia. It seems there's a lot going on out in the wide world right now." Hern was leaning against a wall, head down in thought while talking.

"By the Nine! What could Meridia want with you? She's no Molag Bal, but she is still a Deadric Prince!" This had Arngeir on edge. For a Daedric Prince to be involved, this cannot be good.

"Well, it seems that wherever Paarthurnax is going to send me, coincides with where the Elder Council wishes to send me. As for Meridia, it seems that there's an army of the undead gathering wherever this place is." Hern seemed relaxed to the people in the room. And that is not normally associated when mentioning Daedric Princes or armies of the dead.

"That. That's terrible, Hern! And I must insist that you go see Paarthurnax now. Your friends and family may stay here for food and warmth," said a now concerned Arngeir.

Hern nodded. But before he went through the other doors, he grabbed one of his bags and went to a nearby room. Some understood his actions, while others were left wondering, but not for long. After a few moments, Hern came back out. Only this time, he had shed his throw-a-way gear and put on his signature gear that had served him through many battles and adventures.

Upon his head, Hern wore a helm of dragon scale and iron, with a metal cover over the normally open face, that covered from the tip of the nose, down to his chin. The spikes coming on top of the helm, sweeping back, up and to the sides, gave the Dragonborn an intimidating look. The deceptive part of the helm, was that although it protected Hern's face, it still allowed him to use his Thu'ums. The rest of the armor was also in dragon scale, though forged and tempered at a far higher level than even what Eorlund Greymane could hope for. And made to where even dragon bites left little mark.

Covering the rest of his body, was dragon scale armor. Light and flexible, but almost as strong as dragon plate armor. And with what Hern knew of smithing and enchanting, the rest knew that this armor was nigh impenetrable.

On Hern's hips, he wore twin blades that he had used to slay his most feared foes. Two dragon bone swords, forged in resemblance to the Blade's weapons, but far stronger and sharper than any steel could hope to match. And on his shoulders, Hern wore a deep maroon cloak, with the sigil of the Dragonborn.

The others simply gawked at Hern, as he was not one to normally wear his best armor unless he expected battle. Hern turned towards them, "Call it a feeling, but I couldn't help but put this on." And before anyone could say anything, Hern went through the other doors, and outside.

Hern made his way out the back of High Hrothgar, and began his trek up to the very top of the mountain. As he made his way, Hern began feeling a rumble through the air. At first, he dismissed it as one of the other dragons visiting Paarthurnax, maybe even Odahviing. But the further Hern went, the more realized that it was no dragon. And it was no avalanche either.

Back in High Hrothgar, Hern's companions were enjoying a meal offered freely by the Greybeards. Although a bit rambunctious, everyone was enjoying the food, the former bandit in particular. Elsen was enjoying some beef stew, when she felt a rumbling in the air and through the ground. Looking around, worried it might be an earthquake, she saw the others have similar expressions.

Even Serana was concerned. She ran through the temple to find Arngeir. When she did, she found him with the other three human Greybeards outside, staring at the top of the mountain. All of them seemingly in a trance. When Serana looked, at first wondering if the sky would fall, she saw what the Greybeards were staring at, and she gazed in amazement.

Hern was getting closer to the top. And the closer he got, the more distinct the sound became. He just could not put his finger on it, but he felt something pull him towards the top still. So on the Dragonborn climbed, never looking above.

Solitude. Seat of High Queen Elisif of Skyrim…

In Solitude, High Queen Elisif was listening to her court about the continued rebuilding of Skyrim from the Civil War.

"The rebuilding of forts and other strongholds are coming along well enough, but remnants of the Stormcloaks and occasional group of bandits still harass Imperial Troops delivering supplies," said a frustrated Legate Rikke. Despite being three years since the Dragonborn had led the charge through the gates of Windhelm, some resistance remained from the diehard supporters. These ones were the extremist supporters who believed all non-Nords should be ran out of Skyrim.

"Perhaps an increase in par- What is that!?" Falk Firebeard interrupted himself when a low rumbling had begun sounding.

Everyone had confused looks, until a guard by a window exclaimed, "The sky! Look to the sky!" Immediately everyone ran towards a window to see what it was the guard had gotten excited about. When they gazed out, the first thing they noticed was the people in the streets were loitering about in the early evening, were looking to the sky in wonderment. Those in the Blue Palace followed suit, and soon their faces resembled that of those out in the street.

Imperial Capitol, Cyrodil…

At the Imperial Capital, General Tullius was out on a balcony for some fresh air, having just finished discussions with the Elder Council about the looming Thalmor threat. Tullius was no spring chicken, but would rather be out in the field in a tent with his troops, then cooped up in the capital dealing with politics. At the moment, he was reminiscing about one of the strangest cases of luck he had ever seen.

 _Prisoner after prisoner walked off the wagons, had their names read, and were sent to the line to await their punishment. One prisoner, who claimed to be a horse thief, tried to run, but was struck down by an arrow. To Tullius, it mattered little. He had seen enemies disguise themselves before and use tactics like that to try and escape or launch ambushes._

 _Finally, there was one last prisoner. A little bigger than most Nords, he had the look of a weary traveler than a rebel. But Tullius didn't like taking unneeded risks. He was here to put a stop to the Civil War, so that these people could live in peace. Although Tullius knew little of Nord ways, he believed everyone should be able to live a peaceful life, no matter who they are._

 _The first prisoner to be executed seemed all to ready for the headsmen. But the next was the last prisoner off the wagons. Tullius saw no sign of fear, but did not see the same fanaticism he had seen with the Stormcloaks. The man did not fear death, but he was not eager for it either._

 _When the young man finally got to the block, and the headsman was about to bring the ax down, a terrifying creature landed on top of one of the towers. A dragon, bigger than a house, roared into the sky, and made it rain fire. Sending everything into chaos. Tullius and some of his troops had made it out of the city after getting those out that they could, but the dragon snapped up soldiers falling back. The prisoners had escaped. The war would wage on._

"And to think, that boy would come back later and not only end the war, but took care of that damned dragon too." Tullius had reminiscing smile on his face.

"Sir?"

"Ah, Private. Just thinking back to the Skyrim Civil War."

"You mean where you fought with the Dragonborn and ended the war?"

"Yes. A good man, and fiercer than a Dremora in battle. He led the charge on Ulfric's home of Winterfell, and carved through the Stormcloaks like a knife through butter." Tullius couldn't help but admire the hero. Thanks to the Dragonborn, the Civil War finally ended, and people could live peacefully. And though Tullius still didn't quite understand Nord customs, he had come to greatly respect them.

"General? Do you hear that?" asked the Private.

Tullius snapped out of his memory, and he could now hear a rumbling noise, echoing through the sky, coming from the North. From Skyrim. "Yes, Private. I hear that." Tullius kept gazing, then his eye caught something, "Look to the sky private! Look!"

Throat of the World…

Hern was now near the top of the mountain, feeling a little more winded than he normally did. Granted he normally did this during the day, not in the late evening. But he still felt that it was odd he would feel like this when climbing this last stretch he had done so many times before. When he finally crested the top of the mountain, he saw his friend and mentor, the ancient and wise dragon, Paarthurnax, next to a Word Wall.

The old dragon, in a mystic-like voice told Hern, "Dovakhiin, valokein. We have been expecting you."

Hern furrowed his brow, and looked around, but it was only him and Paarthurnax. "What do you mean 'we', old friend?"

The dragon chuckled warmly, "Look up, Dovakhiin. And behold."

Then Hern looked up, and the sound he had been blocking out until now, crashed over him like a wave. His eyes grew wider and wider, as he realized what he was seeing. Above, it appeared the sky had opened, and there, standing rank upon rank, in a circle around the hole, seemingly countless in number, were the warriors of Sovengarde! Hern could tell the sound was now deep drums, with horns beginning to sound in, by the dozens, even hundreds! All coming from Sovengarde!

Then the warriors of Sovengarde began chanting, with more and more joining in.

" _Huh, Huah, Ha! Huh, Huah, Ha! Huh, Huah, Ha! Huh, Huah, Ha! Huh, Huah, Ha! Huh, Huah, Ha!"_

Some of the warriors than broke off into singing.

" _Oooh, oooh, ooooh, oooh!"_

Then they all joined together in song, raising their voices in what seemed a battle hymn to Hern.

 _Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ok zin los vahriin,  
Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal!  
Ahrk fin norok paal graan fod nust hon zindro zaan,  
Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal!_

Huzrah nu, kul do od, wah aan bok lingrah vod,  
Ahrk fin tey, boziik fun, do fin gein!

Many of the voices, except for the deepest of them, fell silent. The remaining ones went into chant.

 _Wo lost fron wah ney dov, ahrk fin reyliik do jul,  
Voth aan suleyk wah ronit faal krein_

Ahrk fin zul, rok drey kod, nau tol morokei frod,  
Rul lot Taazokaan motaad voth kein!  
Sahrot Thu'um, med aan tuz, vey zeim hokoron pah,  
Ol fin Dovahkiin komeyt ok rein!

Hern could feel a strange power filling him, as the song continued, a warm feeling flowing through him, as the singing picked up again, with the warriors stomping their shields into the ground or banging them with their weapons, in beat with the drums.

 _Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ok zin los vahriin,  
Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal!  
Ahrk fin norok paal graan fod nust hon zindro zaan,  
Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal!_

Hern felt the power stir something in his draconic soul. Something he had never felt before.

Ahrk fin Kel lost prodah, do ved viing ko fin krah,  
Tol fod zeymah win kein meyz fundein!  
Alduin, feyn do jun, kruziik vokun staadnau,  
Voth aan bahlok wah diivon fin lein!

The voices fell silent, but the music continued for a moment by itself before the warriors sang again.

Nuz aan sul, fent alok, fod fin vul dovah nok,  
Fen kos nahlot mahfaeraak ahrk ruz!  
Paaz Keizaal fen kos stin nol bein Alduin jot,  
Dovahkiin kos fin saviik do muz!

Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ok zin los vahriin,  
Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal!  
Ahrk fin norok paal graan fod nust hon zindro zaan  
Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal!

 _Haaa hu haaa hu haaa YA! Haaa hu haaa hu haaa YA!_

Hern watched as the voices and music all fell silent, only for a brilliant light to shine down, and connect with Paarthurnax. The old dragon then began to glow in a golden light.

Hern was worried for his friend, "Paarthurnax?"

Before Hern could say anything else, an almost ethereal form erupted around the ancient dragon, much like when Hern used his Dragon Aspect shout, but this was a pure golden color. The dragon turned his gaze towards Hern, eyes glowing. When Hern looked in his eyes, the light surrounding the dragon instantly shot into Hern's. And Hern began floating up from the ground. A soft light emanating from the Dragonborn.

High Hrothgar…

Serana could hardly believe what had just happened. Neither could anyone else standing around her. Shortly after she had found the Greybeards, the others in the party had joined her outside and staring at what had transpired. Although she couldn't see the top of the mountain, she could see a brilliant golden light, that she thought might be visible from the other end of the continent. And what she had seen, before that light, she had only heard in story from Hern, the realm of Sovengarde.

Then a thought struck Serana, _"What about Hern!? He was up there when that light struck!"_ Before any of the others could recover, Serana bolted towards the pass that led to the top of the Throat of the World.

Imperial Capital, Cyrodil…

Tullius was in awe. He had heard about Sovengarde from the Nords in his command, and even the first-hand account from the Dragonborn when he had slain Alduin. But to see it? And the song! It had stirred something within the general. A desire for battle, for glory, and for honor! Feelings he hadn't felt since he was a youth in the Legion.

"Sir?" asked the Private, still stunned from what he had seen.

Tullius' face cracked into a big smile. "I don't know much about what that was Private. But one thing I do know, the Dragonborn is back."

All over Skyrim, the Empire, and Tamriel as a whole, the peoples of all the provinces could only stare at the sight, and feel the weight of the song sink in. Although few alive knew the words, all who listened felt the meaning behind them. The Hero of Skyrim, the Slayer of Alduin, and the man who stopped the Volkihar Vampires, the Dragonborn, after years of not being seen, had returned.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3. Meetings and Revelations

Hern, who was looking on as his friend and mentor, Paarthurnax, was engulfed in the brilliant light. Rather than harm the dragon, the light shaped itself to the dragon, which then turned his head towards Hern. Hern could only look on, unable to move. The dragon locked eyes with Hern, and everything went white.

 _Awaken, child of Dovah._

Hern heard the deep, commanding, yet unthreatening voice, and could do nothing else but obey. Hern opened his eyes, and rather than the Throat of the World, it seemed they were in a plain of pure white. He quickly looked for the source of the voice that had awoken him, and found a man. Hern's eyes widened in shock. He had seen this man's face and form in paintings and statues back in Cyrodiil.

"Martin Septim!?" Hern wasn't sure if he could believe what he was seeing.

Martin gave a warm smile, but without opening his mouth, he responded.

 _In some ways, I am Martin Septim. The last of the Septim Dynasty. The Dragonborn Emperors. But I am also more. Martin became my avatar, and thus a part of me, during what you know as the Oblivion Crisis._

Hern could hardly form his words, or think coherently. There was only one who it could be, and Hern could barely whisper the name, "Akatosh."

 _Yes, child. I know you have many questions, but those must wait._

Hern only nodded.

 _Meridia was correct, that in another land, the dead are being brought back, as an army to eventually destroy all life. But that is only one crisis. The other, is that for the first time in a very long time, true Dovah will be born. Not resurrected, such as what Alduin had done. But born._

Hern was shown a vision of the remains of a great fire held in the middle of an endless sea of grass. In the midst, was a young woman, only a few years older than Hern's own children, naked, but covered with ash. And upon her shoulders and cradled in her arms, were three very small dragons.

 _This kon is the last true heir of a long line of rulers who carried traces of a previous Dovahkiin, whose name is long lost to unsutiid, history. Though young, she carries great promise for a new future. But also a great danger._

The image of the girl faded, and then showed her again, this time with a group of horsemen, and the dragons, still small, but larger than before, doing whatever they wished.

 _These little ones will be the first mindosaal dov, intelligent dragons, to be born since the Beginning. But their balance is frail. Their adoptive monah, mother, knows not the ways of the Dov, nor what these ones are truly capable of. The people of these lands only have memories of the Hefahus, Mindless._

The image faded again, and Hern was shown three dragons that rivaled some in Skyrim for size. Each with a rider, sharing the girl's hair from the previous visions, attacking what looked like a fortress. One that was on fire.

 _These were descendants of Dovah that had sunk to their most base instincts, they forgot themselves. Became beasts. And they were used as creatures of war. Their owners, believed they should keep their line of descendents 'pure' and interbred within their family for pogaan eruvos, many years. Causing the same vorohah, madness, that beset my eldest, Alduin._

Hern detected sadness from the god, as a parent would over a lost child.

 _It will be up to you to help train these future dovah. For they shall play a greater role in the years to come. They need to be trained as true Dovah. Else it would unleash not one, but three more Dov like Alduin. Dov that seek to conquer and control, rather than guide and protect._

Hern shuddered. Alduin, in the short time he had been in Skyrim, had laid to waste Helgen, farms, people, and countless souls. And those were only the ones he knew about. Three dragons like him would be disastrous. But if he could guide them like how Paarthurnax now did the remaining Dragons in Skyrim, then it would be for the betterment of all. 

The dragons vanished, and after them, appeared a land covered in snow and ice, even more so than Skyrim. And there, was a host of the dead, arisen. But amongst them, Hern spotted creatures much like draugr he had faced, but these were far taller, and white as snow. But the army of the dead stretched on, out of sight, as countless as the stars. Some bodies looked like they only recently died. Others looked like the skeletons and draugr that Hern had fought all too many times.

 _This is the threat in the North, Dovahkiin. Creatures of evil. Many eons on ago, they tried to kill all those in the land of the living, so that the undead may rule. However, the peoples of the lands of the living banded together against this foe, and drove them back to the far North, beyond light and warmth, where they have been waiting. Biding their time. But the victory of the living came at great loss._

The image of the army of undead faded, and replaced by one with the bodies of humans, and what appeared to be children sized humans, but something was off about them. But there were just so many, so many, countless dead. Towns and villages destroyed. Life, extinguished. Hern could feel the pain of the loss nearly ripping his soul a part.

 _Although they drove their foe North, Kiir do Feykro, Children of the Forest, the source of the magic of these lands, were nearly destroyed to the last. The few remaining Kiir, helped Jul, Man, to create defenses against any future attack._

The vision changed to one where a few of the little ones, with a number of men, were constructing a wall that stretched as far as Hern could see. Seemingly made of ice and rock.

 _Of Ice, Stone, and Magic, they created this wall. And over the centuries, they built it. Higher and higher. Ever keeping a watchful vigil for the evil beyond their Wall. Though their true purpose is now lost to memory, some still feel the duty to protect against the unknown._

The final image vanished. Hern looked back to Akatosh, wonder and worry both decorated his face.

 _Though some still watch, many have forgotten. Ahkon ginon, trouble comes. Those in the North, who call themselves the First Men, have not forgotten this, though they have of the true face of their foe. Those to the South, care not at all. They merely desire power. But, there will be one that can help, who goes by many names. But do not be fooled by false prophets and lies. The real one shall be revealed in time. The world, however, balances on the edge of a knife, Dovahkiin. Beware._

"Thank you Akatosh." It was all Hern could muster. He was trying to process all of this, but it had hit him hard, and he felt a little dazed from everything.

 _Dovahkiin. It has ever been the policy of the Aedra to let the races of Nirn control their own fates, only offering guidance when needed. But now, you will be dealing with two threats to the world at the same time, which is why I have come. None of the Aedra, myself included, wish to see the end of Nirn. My last advice, dii kul, is to look to the Wolf of the North, and the sign of the Red Comet. Farewell._

Hern's vision faded to black, with the last part of Akatosh's advice prominent in his mind. _Wolf of the North… Sign of the Red Comet…_

Throat of the World…

Serana had made it to the top of the mountain moments before, but she had stopped in her tracks, in the shin deep snow. Floating high above her, eye level with a dragon made of brilliant light, was Hern. And around Hern, was a figure resembling his Dragon Aspect shout, but more, _real_. More solid. His Draconic Soul was formed like another armor around the Dragonborn. Serana could only stare, not knowing what to do or say.

After a few moments, the light around Hern dissipated, and his Dragon Soul merged back into his body. Hern would have fallen rather hard to the ground, if Serana hadn't raced under him and caught him. She set Hern down, who was breathing somewhat raggedly, but unconscious, and hugged him, glad he was okay. And went over him making sure he wasn't injured underneath his armor.

The rest of the light faded, and the tear in the sky sealed. Akatosh left his Second Son, Paarthurnax, and went back to his realm. Paarthurnax had been willing to host Akatosh, but still needed a moment to recover from channeling his Father. The old dragon noticed Serana watching over Hern, and smiled internally.

"Kiir, child, you should take Dovahkiin back to Lok Hrothgar. Even with the soul and sos, blood, of a Dov, he needs to be kept warm," the dragon told Serana gently.

The vampire nodded in understanding, picked up Hern, and made her way back down to the temple, trying to shield as much of the wind as she could on the way down, feeling, maybe an after effect of what happened, make her come to a decision she had been putting off for too long.

Summerset Isles, Alinor Palace…

Elenwen watched the light in the distant North disappear, and the tear in the sky close, mouth agape at the sight. After the tear finished closing, she shook her head to clear it. And when she thought about what happened, she did not like it, not one bit. _"That damned Dragonborn is back. That much is for certain. But this time, it looks like he has one of the Divines on his side, and if memory serves correct..."_ As much as the Thalmor Councilor despised the thought of that human being back, she had a very long memory.

Elenwen remembered back over two hundred years ago to the Imperial Capitol, during the Oblivion Crisis. She had been sent to the Capitol as a possible emissary of the newly rising Thalmor, until Oblivion almost literally took the Capitol City. She had seen a similar light take hold of the last Septim alive, and turned him into the Avatar of Akatosh, and drove the Oblivion cursed Mehrunes-Dagone back to his realm.

Elenwen hated doing it, as would the other Councilor members, but like her, they remembered that time. They would not interfere with the Dragonborn in whatever he was doing. The last thing the Thalmor wanted, was for one of the Divines, and in case of the Dragonborn, Akatosh, angry with them.

Turning on her heel, Elenwen went back into her chambers, and began writing notes to the other members, suggesting courses of action for the future. She had not risen to this rank over the last few years for it all to go to waste. She was nothing, if not a careful planner. The most prominent message though, was to leave the Dragonborn be, for now.

High Hrothgar, the next morning…

Hern woke up, and although groggy and still a little expended from the night before, was otherwise fine. Looking around, without moving, he spotted Serana next to the bed he was in, eyes closed. _"Not bad,"_ thought Hern admiring the sight, _"yet she claims she doesn't need to sleep."_ He tucked that memory away for later. And felt something, maybe a remainder of Akatosh, maybe Sovengarde, give him that little push.

Glancing around to the other side, Hern spotted Blaise and Lucia, both also sleeping in chairs next to him. Hern smiled. It had been four years since he took the two of them in, and they were growing up. Only months separated the two, but Blaise, the more forward of the two, often took the lead, though Lucia was the wiser of the two. And the two would stick up for each other if the other was attacked or being bullied.

Hern felt like it was time to get up. He didn't want to disturb them, but he was getting a bit hungry, having skipped supper the night before to go to the top of the mountain…

That's when the events of the previous night caught up with the Dragonborn, his mind flooded with images of Akatosh, infant dragons, and an army of the undead. _"By the Nine, that really happened."_ Needless to say, it was a, humbling experience for the Dragonborn. He had dealt with the undead, Vampires, Deadra, mad mages, and even some of the Daedric Princes. But never had he actually come into contact with one of the Aedra, much less Akatosh himself.

"Awake I see." Came the gentle voice of the vampire next to him.

"Yeah. So are you." A small smile developed on both of their faces.

"Come on you two!" Came the voice of a young girl, at the end of her patience.

"Yeah, just kiss and get married already!" Came the much more authoritative voice of a boy.

The smiles on the vampire and Dragonborn turned into knowing ones, as if they read each other's minds.

"Well, Serana? What say you? You're the one that gets headaches with temples," Hern only half teased.

Putting her hand on Hern's head, stroking his hair, Serana responded with a smile, "Only because I go with you. But I think I can put up with a headache long enough." Serana then leaned over and kissed Hern, careful of her fangs, and the two were soon lost in each other.

Blaise and Lucia turned to one another, and gave each other a high-five. Happy that their two parents were finally getting together. Though they turned a little red after seeing how long and passionate their parents were getting. And they weren't the only ones happy either.

Vilkas and Farkas, with the new party member, Elsen, were just around the corner and overheard everything. All three had very good hearing, with two being werewolves and the other having very keen ears. Vilkas and Farkas nodded to each other, glad that Hern and Serana were finally tying the knot after years of everyone wanting and expecting them to.

Elsen though, was having a very trying twenty-four hours. First, the group of bandits she had gotten stuck with attacked this man and woman, and they had died to the last. Next, the man whom had dispatched three bandits with ease and ruthlessness, had spared her life, and even offered her coin to try and improve her lot in life. After swearing fealty to him, almost spur of the moment but she figured she didn't have anything to lose, she goes and finds out he's the Dragonborn! And last night, she didn't know what to think of that, but knew it was something of the utmost importance. Right then, the Bosmer just wanted to go to an Inn and drink for a night to try and make sense of all of this.

After getting some food, and feeling better after a good bit of rest, Hern traveled back up to the top of the mountain to check in on Paarthurnax, this time accompanied by his betrothed.

"Greetings, Dovahkiin. Liin do Dovahkiin. It makes me glad to see you up and about after last night," greeted the old dragon.

"Thank you, Paarthurnax. We wanted to make sure you were okay after all of that as well," responded a relieved Hern.

"A mal tiin, a little weary, but I shall be fine. Dovah are, muliik, stronger than jul. I see you two have grin, bonded for true now?"

Hern and Serana nodded, hands together, fingers intertwined. Serana looked at Hern who spoke after a moment, "Yeah. These next threats, I don't know what will happen. But Akatosh's visions showed me that I do not have time to waste anymore. And I should stop fearing what may happen tomorrow, and enjoy today. Because tomorrow, if I don't follow my heart, and I die, I would never be able to forgive myself."

Serana gazed at Hern, eyes full of mirth and joy, rather than despair and sadness that had once ruled them, "And I need to let go of the past, and look to the present and future now. What happened back then, is over. Hern has been there for me ever since we met. And I will spend what time I can with him."

Serana and Hern were happy, truly. They both had been putting it off for years. They both were aware of one another's feelings, but Serana had been afraid for a while. Because of her past, of how she became a vampire. Because of the betrayal of her father, and to a lesser extent, her mother. It had been a difficult time for her. But Hern had been there, and did what he could to help her get closure. And now, she had a new family thanks to him. A new chance.

Hern had been afraid to commit because, while he knew friends would look after the children should anything happen to him, he had been afraid what would happen if he had truly committed to Serana, and he was killed. He did not want her to feel that pain. And deep down, he did not want to feel the pain if it were her. But both had come to the realization that there was no more time to waste, that life could end all too quickly, and would go tell the Priest of Mara that they wished to marry when they got to Riften. Thankfully, Serana had become very good at hiding her fangs in public.

"I am truly unaz fah hi, happy for you two. May you have a lingrah ahrk joyous laas pahvoth, a long and joyous life together." If Hern and Serana didn't know any better, they could have sworn that Paarthurnax was smiling.

The couple said their goodbyes to Paarthurnax, and thanked him for his blessing, before they made their way back down to the Temple to get ready to leave.

City of Pentos…

Daenarys Targaryen, one of the last of her family, looked out into the distance on the balcony, where she had felt, _something_ , the night before. She did not know what it was, but she had felt something from a very long way off, yet also something within her blood had stirred at the same time. She could not describe it, but whatever this was, it did not frighten her. If anything, she felt a little more, _alive_ , and _bolder_ then at almost any point in her life that she could remember.

"Dany? What are you doing!?" demanded a voice from behind the girl.

"J-just looking at the view, Viserys." Dany had asked her brother earlier that morning if he had felt whatever it was she had. His only response was that he felt agitated for her disturbing him so early in the morning.

Viserys Targaryen frightened Daenarys. But he was also the only family she had left. The siblings had grown up in exile, with Viserys often regaling her with how great the Targaryens were. Dany normally didn't know what to think of a place she had no memory of, but for some reason, this morning, it sickened her that her throne was being held by a usurper when Viserys had gone on his usual rant about the overthrow of the Targaryen Dynasty. _"Wait, no! The throne is Viserys' to reclaim! Why would I…?"_ The line of thought had startled her, and she quickly pushed it away, if a little regretfully.

When Dany turned back to the rooms, her brother had left and there waiting for her was Njala, a handmaiden brought into her service by way of Illyrio Mopatis, a Magister of the Free City of Pentos. Njala had been a surprise for Dany, not only for her accent and height, but also with how the handmaiden treated her, and told her of fantastical tales. The handmaiden had been one of the few to treat her kindly that Dany could remember, and had grown see the woman as a friend.

The brother though, Njala held in contempt. She believed that had the two grown up in Skyrim, Dany would have thrived, while her brother would have been savaged by a mudcrab. But since being stranded in Essos, Njala kept her origins a secret from most, but had loved entertaining Dany with tales of Skyrim.

"M'lady Danaerys," Njala said with a slight bow of her head with a smile on her face, "I hope you rested well?"

Dany had come to trust the handmaiden as a friend. And Njala had given her advice and told her to be strong, often comforting her after her brother had hurt her. "I don't know, Njala. Last night I, felt _something,_ out there, and it was strong enough, and resonated in me, that it woke me up. I've barely been away from the balcony. I don't know how to explain it, but I felt it. Something I had never felt before. It's, it's hard to explain what it is." Dany's face scrunched up in frustration.

Njala raised her eyebrows in surprise. Her eyes widened to where one would think they would fall out before long. Njala had been stranded in this place for the last couple of years, having been a sea merchant for Skyrim until getting here. She had lucked out with this job, which she thought at first would be merely to keep an eye on this girl. But had come to admit she had grown attached to Dany. But with her mentioning last night, when she had heard a song that had come from Skyrim as sure as she did, Njala had to ask, and ran up to the girl, and held her by both shoulders.

"Did it feel like something had stirred inside? A feeling to go and do some great deed, to face death without fear?" Njala asked with almost a great urgency, taking the young Targaryen by surprise.

"Y-yes. A lot like that. How did you know Njala?" Dany had never seen her friend react so, and it startled her.

A warm smile appeared on Njala's face, as she relaxed. "Dany, I think it's time I tell you a few important tales about where I come from."

The two took a seat on the sofa, and Dany listened with intent to Njala's tales, becoming fascinated more than usual.

King's Landing…

Tyrion Lannister, also infamously known as the Imp, in part for his size, and in part for his nature to cause trouble for those that he didn't particularly care for, waved goodbye to the two women who left his chambers. He had enjoyed their company, to be sure, but after the dream he had, he wished to be left alone for a time.

Last night, he had dreamed of something he had not dreamed of since he was a child, though he had never forgotten. It was dreams of dragons and riding them through the sky. It was funny though, as he had not given it much thought in years. Normally about this time, he would have a glass of good wine, but for once, he decided to forego it, preferring to keep his mind clear.

While thinking these thoughts, Tyrion heard a knock on the door, and told them to come in. To his grateful surprise, it was his brother Jaime. Of Tyrion's family, Tyrion could only get along with his brother, niece, and youngest nephew. Though his uncle was okay as well.

"Jaime, good to see you. I hope all is well with our 'illustrious' King Robert?"

The sarcasm was not lost on Jaime, he smiled in response to his brother. "About as well as drinking and whoring night and day will make one be."

Tyrion shook his head, while holding both arms out to his sides, "Can't say I speak for him, but it has done wonders for me brother." The two had a nice little laugh. But Tyrion was curious as to why his brother wished to see him so early in the day. "So what brings you here this morning Jaime?"

Jaime Lannister sighed in exasperation, "Father again. I received a letter from him last night, not so subtly hinting for me to resign from the Kingsguard, again. He doesn't like it that it's for life and that I refuse to just leave."

Tyrion, pouring a glass of wine for his brother, corked the bottle back up. "I'd doubt our King would notice if even you were not in the Kingsguard, brother. His attention is either on the whores, or on his wine. Even I do more than that." Tyrion handed Jaime the wine, who quickly drank it down.

"But I did take the oaths, and unless King Robert excuses me from my position, I'm here to stay. And just leaving, won't exactly go well. Father just doesn't understand," sighed Jaime.

"Not quite brother. Father understands quite well. He just doesn't like it because it is out of his hands."

"Well, at least we'll have the tourney in a few months to blow off some steam." Jaime looked forward to the tourneys, as that was one of the few perks he enjoyed being stuck in Kings Landing.

"You blow off your steam in arena. Meanwhile, I'll lighten some poor fool's pockets who decide to bet against you," quipped Tyrion, which had the both of them laughing, as it had been sometime since someone had actually bet against Jaime Lannister.

The brothers talked a little more, but each had other duties for the day, and went off their separate ways.

Riften, Honeyside Home.

Hern basked in the aftermath in bed, with Serana having laid on his arm, her body pressed against his, both resting. He wished this moment could last longer, but Hern knew time was of the essence. _"But perhaps a bit longer? A few more minutes at the least,"_ the Dragonborn debated against himself.

Serana, who had been quiet for the last few minutes, smiled and said, "So THAT'S why they call you the Dragonborn."

Grinning, Hern replied, "I thought it was because of the Shouts?"

Serana nestled a little closer, "We certainly did that too."

Hern chuckled, and thought on what had happened since leaving High Hrothgar, arm going over Seran's shoulder. The last couple of days had been a blur, with Hern barely recalling the trip back to Riften.

The group had made quick progress back to the Hold Capitol, and went straight to the Temple of Mara to speak with the Priest, who was more than happy to oblige. The only agonizing part of their stay in Riften, was the required twenty-four hours to wait before the wedding day.

During that time, they had met up with Mjoll the Lioness, an old friend whom Hern and Serana helped find her sword in a Dwemer ruin, and had accompanied the two on several adventures. After talking with the Priest of Mara, Mjoll, Lucia, and Elsen led Serana away to Mjoll's home, while Vilkas, Farkas, and Blaise led Hern back to Honeyside. All to get the couple ready for their upcoming wedding.

Hern had been forced into some new clothing more suited to one of the Jarls on an important occasion, while Serana was put into an equally fancy dress. Much to their chagrin. Neither cared for fancy clothes, and much preferred more comfortable and easy to move in clothes.

On the day of the wedding, there were no seats left, and very little standing room available. Their friends from across Skyrim had made haste to the wedding. Amongst them, Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun. Aela, Lydia, Vilkas, Farkas, and some of the more senior members of the Companions. Mjoll the Lioness, J'zzargo, Onmund, and Brelyna. A local Nordic merchant who sold questionable items with female Dunmer beside him with purple eyes. A rather tall, and dangerous looking Redguard with a small girl next to him. And of course Lucia and Blaise, up front with Elsen. And so many more.

After the Priest of Mara declared Hern and Serana married, the Temple erupted into cheers, shortly followed by light hearted laughter, as Serana picked up Hern in her arms. Shortly after, the merchant and Dunmer, along with the Redguard and small girl had vanished, but there were so many other guests, few noticed.

Needless to say, the newlyweds didn't get much sleep that night at Honeyside, while Lucia and Blaise stayed with Mjoll and Elsen (who was invited by the Lioness to her home) for the night.

Sitting up in bed, letting the covers fall to his waist, Hern began rubbing his neck and shoulders, feeling various holes everywhere that were healing, but still prominent enough to detect.

"You do know I probably have more holes in my neck and shoulders now than a slice of cheese, right?" jested Hern.

Serana pushed herself up in bed a little bit, a little disappointed that they couldn't stay much longer, but with a smile on her lips, "You sure didn't complain last night."

"That I did not, my dear. That I did not."

In half-mocking tone, Serana warned Hern, "You better not be going all sappy on me, Hern. We may be married now, but if you become like that one bard in Whiterun, I swear I'll suck you dry."

Hern snorted, barely holding back his laughter.

Serana stared for a moment, then realized what she said. "You ass, you know what I meant." Then with a reluctant sigh, "But I guess we should get ready, the Elder Council can only wait so long."

Hern, after a moment of still stifled laughter, agreed. The two got dressed, with a little more banter, got their packs and supplies, and headed out to meet the others.

The road back to Whiterun was rather uneventful, and thus the party could relax more. Many of their friends had left Riften after the wedding and congratulating the couple. But some had decided to travel with them back to Jarl Balgruuf's city. Namely the other Companions who had journeyed to Riften.

Normally bandits preferred preying on small groups. So a large group of relatively well-armed and seasoned looking warriors kept even the worst bandit groups away. Even animals that normally had no qualms about attacking people, kept their distance from the group.

During the journey, Hern decided to see what Elsen could do. As it turned out, she didn't even like carrying a sword. Using one? The one she had was for show. The Bosmer didn't want to go too much into her past, but it was plain to the others that anything above a knife or dagger scared her. Hern deduced it had to do with her time as a Thalmor prisoner, which awakened old anger at the group. Hern had also studied the brands on Elsen's arms, and with Serana's input, they were able to change them from marks of oppression to look more like tattoos of vines and branches, which Elsen greatly appreciated.

So instead of weapons, Hern thought of an alternative to train the Bosmer, with her bare hands and feet. Elsen had proven to have quick reflexes, a natural part of her people's nature, and began with beginning lessons, training with Lydia at night in camp.

Elsen herself was still getting used to the whirlwind that had happened, but was getting her mind wrapped around it. And she was quite grateful that Hern and his new wife hadn't pressed her when it came to her time trapped in the Thalmor dungeons. They did offer to hear her out when she was ready, but Elsen didn't know when that would be. Once again, as she had so many times since her new lieges had altered them, she looked at her arms. It reminded her of home, of Valenwood, before she had been captured by Thalmor Justicars. And now here she was, in the service of one of, if not the most powerful heroes in Tamrielic history.

Elsen had to admit, it was, odd, serving a Vampire Lord and the Dragonborn as lieges, even more so that they treated her more like an equal than a servant, but she couldn't complain. The children, Blaise and Lucia, each had their own charm to the Bosmer, to which she enjoyed being around them. And with the world renowned Companions serving as a guard for the party, Elsen didn't feel so on edge about trouble. Though she did wonder why it smelled like wet dog after a rain shower had passed over.

After getting to Whiterun, other than the Circle members, whom Elsen had learned functioned as the leadership of the Companions, most of the renowned group went back to Jorrvaskr, giving a last bit of congratulations to Hern and Serana. And after restocking their supplies, the remainder of the party turned South, and stopped at Riverwood for the night.

Although Hern and Serana had wanted to stay in the tents, the rest argued that they, and Lucia and Blaise, who had quickly began calling Serana 'mother' (which had brought a little tear to the Vampire's eye), should sleep at the Inn. And a Companion would keep guard in the main room.

That night, Hern was quietly getting dressed, when he heard a quiet rustle.

"So that's tonight?" came a soft voice.

"Yeah. I'll be back shortly, hopefully without too many killing each other," Hern said with a smile. Though in reality, he really hoped it wouldn't come down to that.

"You know what you're doing Hern. Just do what you normally do, and everything should be fine," advised Serana.

"I hope you are right, otherwise it could get fairly ugly." Hern pulled up the hood on his large cloak, and left through the door. Serana knew Hern could handle it, and with the guards in the Whiterun Hold and Falkreath Hold more diligent than most at keeping the roads safe, she knew she could relax.

As Hern quietly shut the door behind him, he nodded to Lydia, who was sitting at a nearby table, who nodded back, but also gestured to the figure beside her. Hern, coming closer as it was the way out to begin with, saw it was Elsen. Who just so happened to be passed out on the table.

Quietly, so as not to disturb the Bosmer, Lydia told Hern what happened, "The poor girl, she has no head for a good drink. And becomes a rather wordy drunk before passing out."

Hern smiled. Lydia wasn't as rough as the other Companions, so had set her to keep an eye on the Bosmer. Mainly to be sure Elsen wouldn't get into trouble and as a good training partner. Hern just hoped that the Bosmer would open up to someone before too long about her past. It had helped Hern in the past, as it had helped many close to him, especially his family.

"Thanks Lydia," was all Hern said. Lydia nodded and watched him silently go through the door. _"I pity any who wish to anger him. They would never hear him coming,"_ mused the former Housecarl.

Hern made his way up the road, South and West. Climbing higher and higher up the winding road until he came to his destination. Before the Dragonborn were two gates to a now abandoned and once prosperous city of Falkreath. The very first he had ever been in, and had nearly died in. He was at Helgen.

Opening the gates quietly, Hern could practically see that fateful day playing out again. As Alduin, a very large black dragon, descended upon the tower and began his reign of terror. For much of his time in the city, Hern had been nearly helpless. Hands bound, no weapons to speak of, and no knowledge of what he was. At the time, he had only been focused on trying to stay alive. This time though, he wanted to make sure others would stay alive.

Hern went into the center of town, where several other groups of people were waiting, some more hostile to others, but all there at the behest of one person; Hern.

All eyes turned to the Dragonborn as he made his way to the center of the group, cringing on the inside. _"Let's get this over with."_ Hern never liked being the center of attention like this for long, so was determined to get these people to work together and at least tolerate one another.

Hern first observed the groups that had come from one end of Skyrim, to the other, to meet with him here. He had told them in the letters who to expect, but Hern figured there would be unspoked hostility, and there certainly was. The first group was the Companions, represented by Aela, Vilkas, and Farkas. Who were eyeing two of the other groups that were standing closer together than most of the others.

The two groups were the Assassin's Brotherhood and Thieves Guild of Skyrim. The two had worked together several times in the past, so had less qualms about partnership between the two than most others. Representing the Brotherhood was Nazir and Babbette, the last two survivors of the original Brotherhood that Hern had first met, and often ran the Brotherhood, except for special contracts that Hern received. For the Thieves Guild, Brynjolf and Karliah, two of the three Nightingales and the second and third in charge of the guild. Although Brynjolf and Karliah were thieves, killing was against their policy, outside of extreme circumstances, and both had earned Hern's respect, and vice versa. The killing, the Thieves let the Brotherhood handle.

The next group Hern looked at was the representatives of the Mages College of Winterhold. Led by Faralda, the other two had at one point been fellow classmates of Hern, and were still friends with him; Onmund and J'zaargo. The three Mages were chosen because of their current standing amongst the College in their respective practices.

The next group was led by a middle-aged woman named Delphine the Grandmaster of the Blades, flanked by two younger Blades. Hern remembered their original disagreement over Paarthurnax, and tensions had been rather hot at the time. But after taking some time to cool off, Hern had returned and, with a lot of convincing (mainly of letting the Greybeards look after her weapons), Hern introduced the Blade to Paarthurnax. It had been an, interesting, meeting to say the least. But Delphine had finally relented about killing the old dragon. But had taken an oath to be there should Hern ever need it. The other old Blade, Esbern, had passed away a year before from old age.

Another group, kind of off to their own, was led by a large man by the name Isran, with Gunmar and Sarine behind him. The three were in full Dawnguard armor with their helmets held to their sides, and one of the few factions in Skyrim that Hern was not the leader of, but had gained more than one favor from. The three, much like the Companions, almost always expected a fight, mainly because Vampires could hide amongst the living and ambush them at any time. They had made an exception for Serana, thanks to her invaluable help against the Volkihar threat, but they were eyeing Babette with well-founded suspicion. Babbette simply ignored them.

The final two groups there glared daggers at one another, standing as far from each other as possible. And Hern knew that these two would be the most difficult.

To one side stood Legate Rikke, in charge of the Sixth Imperial Legion that was in Skyrim, while Tulius was away. Behind her, were two other officers who had also served during the Civil War. Rikke gave Hern a quick glance that told him that she was here, and would listen, but made no promises.

Opposite of the Imperial soldiers, were Ulfric Stormcloak, with Galmar Stone-Fist. Although Hern had fought against them in the Civil War, he had learned why they began it, and could hardly blame them, but a Civil War was the last thing any Province needed. Hern remembered smashing through Ulfric's soldiers into his palace, and defeating the rebel leader and his second in command. Tullius and Rikke had been right behind Hern, and had watched as Hern seemingly danced with his blades between the two Stormcloak leaders.

At his mercy, Ulfric and Galmar wanted an honorable death, while Tullius offered Hern a sword to finish them, and Rikke looked on, almost mournfully. If Hern had struck down the two leaders right there and then, none would have held it against him. But Hern had seen something in the two since coming to Skyrim. They fought to stop the Thalmor's tyranny, but had let their visions become clouded. But they were men who inspired their troops, whom were both capable leaders.

Hern had motioned for Tulius to put his sword away, which made everyone look at him questioningly. Instead of drawing his own sword, Hern offered a hand to Ulfric and Galmar. While he disagreed with Ulfric, he still respected the man. Hern had come up with a plan, to let Ulfric's men continue to harass the Thalmor, but to leave the Imperials alone. With Ulfric and Galmor leading their men. It had taken a lot of convincing, but it worked. Ever since, Thalmor patrols had either been diverted or destroyed by Stormcloaks, who were sent information by the Imperials, with the Blades as the go between and guides. And as the Thalmor believed Ulfric and many of his officers dead, and also believed that the Imperials hated the Stormcloaks enough, the Thalmor never caught on.

It was one of the few things both groups agreed on, that the Thalmor had no business in Skyrim. And though they had been 'at peace' with each other for three years, there was still little love lost between them. Ever since the 'alliance', the Thalmor had all but abandoned Skyrim, with only a few agents left, because of losing so many of their Justicars.

Hern took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to get all these groups to work together. He knew he would need all the help he could get for the upcoming threat. Hern just hoped they wouldn't kill each other first.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4. Meetings and Preparations.

The groups of people watched the Dragonborn, wrapped in a large cloak with his hood pulled up, take a spot in the middle of the gathering, all eyes on him. Babette, observing the person that had become the Listener of the Brotherhood, couldn't help but feel almost like a proud parent. Almost. Not much surprised her any more, but this mortal always seemed to. Despite her looks, she was a three-hundred-year old vampire, and longtime member of the Dark Brotherhood. And this man, Hern the Listener and Dragonborn, had not only survived, but prevailed in situations where even she doubted she would have lived through. Not the least of which when Astrid had betrayed Hern, and ultimately, the Brotherhood and nearly led to the destruction of the organization. But Babette would be lying if she had said she didn't respect Hern for what he had done in his time since being here.

But now, Hern had something else to contend with, getting all of these different factions together. The deceptively small vampire did not envy his position. Not one bit. She herself would have to keep an eye on the Dawnguard.

"So, I take it that you all are wondering why I brought you here, and all together at that," began a somewhat reluctant Hern. "To start off with, I've received two important messages."

Babette spied the leader of the Dawnguard, a bear of a man, Isran speak up, "Out with it Dragonborn. _They_ are still a threat too." Babette had not missed the glance of the man at her. She wasn't afraid of him, but she would be wary around the man. And she knew from Hern and from other accounts, that Isran had no fear of vampires, knew how to fight them, and had led the charge on Volkihar Castle, with Hern and Serana just behind. A man that would not fall to a vampire easily, if at all. Definitely one to keep an eye on, as well as those with him.

"Patience Isran. I was just getting to that." Patience was the key with a man like Isran, and Hern had known the man for a few years now.

"I've called all of you together because I trust each of you implicitly with this information, and aside from the few in the Inn back in Riverwood, I don't trust many others." Hern was speaking in a commanding yet persuasive tone, that he never realized he had. "Several days ago, I received two messages. The first came directly from the Imperial Elder Council. According to one of the Elder Scrolls, a great threat, just as bad, if not worse, than any other that any of us had faced, is coming. And I am currently heading there right now to find out more, which is why I wanted to meet with all of you."  
Delphine, leader of the Blades spoke up, "What sort of threat could rival Alduin? Or even the other foes you've faced?"

"Simple Delphine, an army of the dead," stated Hern, with all seriousness.

This certainly got the groups' attention. "So, a few undead were brought back. Shouldn't be hard to deal with." Babette saw that it had come from the male of the Thieves Guild. A few others nodded in agreement.

Hern shook his head. "It's not simple draugr or rambling skeletons, or even necromancy. It is an army the dead, countless beyond belief. In lands of ice and snow, that makes Skyrim seem more like Hammerfell. And the ones raising the dead? They look like giant draugr, but as far as I can tell, they are something that I have never seen before."

Babette traded glances with Nazir, which was the most reserved reaction so far amongst the attending factions.

Many tried to tell Hern he may have lost it. Others said they wanted proof. The assassins waited quietly, as did, to Babette's mild surprise, the Dawnguard. Both knew there was more to this story.

Hern waited patiently for the shouting to quiet down before continuing, "The night I received the letter, I was visited in my dream by Meridia."

That certainly caught everyone's attention. And it being Meridia, that may just be the proof they needed. And while each one knew Hern liked to take things lightly when he could, he never joked about the Daedric Princes getting him involved in events, despite his crass attitude towards them.

A small, knowing, smile appeared on Hern's lips. "I knew that would get your attention. She told me what the letter was about. But also told me that Paarthurnax wished to speak with me, which I did just a couple of days before my wedding."

Everyone had a feeling they knew where this was going now.

"When I went to see Paarthurnax, Sovengarde opened up." Hern paused for a moment before continuing, "and Akatosh visited me."

Right then, no one knew quite what to make of this claim. It had not been the first time Akatosh had intervened when he deemed necessary, but the last time, two hundred some years ago, a time Babette would not soon forget, was during the Oblivion Crisis. And Akatosh's avatar, Martin Septim, had died after winning. Babette put two and two together though, and realized the light she had seen, from a top the Throat of the World, could have very well been Akatosh. The rest, who were no fools, quickly came to the same conclusion.

Hern then explained what happened when he was visited by the Dragon God, and the visions and warnings Akatosh had given him. This caused great concern amongst them. Particularly if this evil spread throughout the world. Combined with three new dragons being born sometime in the future, each with the capacity to become Alduin, this caused great concern. For the Brotherhood, it would mean no more souls to send to the Void. And even they did not look towards the end of the living.

But Babette wanted to know. "Hern."

"Yes, Babette?"

"What would you have us do? You have brought together the leaders of what would be, combined, a small but powerful army. And composed of people whom you trust, and trust in you, despite many differences between us. You have some plan, I see that much, but I have a feeling it may be incomplete."

Hern sighed, almost as if he was expecting such a comment. "Your right. Currently, it is incomplete. A lot depends on when I get back from the Imperial Capitol. But either way, I know we will need a ship or two. So while I head down to the Imperial Capitol, with the people I have been traveling with, I want the rest of you to gather a number of people you trust from each group, while leaving someone capable in charge of the rest. After that, I want you to gather what supplies and equipment you'll need for a long voyage. Because one way or another, when I get back, we're going to need ships. Which I will deal with. So we will meet up outside of Solitude and go from there."

Taking a moment to let that sink in, Hern made one last statement. "I will not force anyone to go if they do not want to. I do not know when, or even if, we'll be able to come back. So those that volunteer here, must ask the same of those back in your faction headquarters. So those that wish to come with me, step forward."

As one, everyone stepped forward without hesitation. Hern was many things to many people, but to everyone, he was the Dragonborn, the Hero of Skyrim. And he had not led them astray yet.

Even Ulfric and Legate Rikke looked at each other with respect, though still heat behind their eyes, if cooled a little.

Hern was glad, but he had one little problem. "Legate Rikke. Until word arrives from the Imperial Capitol, and as much as I appreciate your support, you will stay here."

"Sir? It's not just me. Many in the Sixth Legion are willing to follow you."

"Legate, I will not have you and other good soldiers branded deserters. None of you would forgive yourselves and neither would I. So hold onto your helmets for the time being until further notice." Hern told Rikke, in a soft, but commanding tone that brooked no nonsense.

Legate Rikke looked perplexed. "Sir, then why did you call us?"

Hern stated simply, "Because I wanted the Empire represented here. Especially with Tullius out of Skyrim at the moment. Even if he were still here, I would have had him bring you along. I am, after all, a citizen of the Empire."

Rikke nodded, understanding now.

"And what of us, Dragonborn?" It was Ulfric speaking now.

"I suggest you do the same. Have someone remain here that can keep that bit of business going. But you and some of your men will be needed. The last three years has made them into excellent ambushers. But before leaving, I suggest dealing with the radicals that split off, Ulfric. They are becoming worse than bandits."

"It will be done, Dragonborn." Replied Ulfric respectfully.

It certainly made more than a few scratch their heads at first. As the two had been on opposing sides of the Civil War, yet had come to respect each other as warriors and leaders. And Ulfric had admitted his complete defeat to Hern.

Hern had a final reminder for the various groups before letting the leaders of the factions go. "One last thing before you go get ready. I know many of you are still suspicious of each other for differing views and opinions. But one thing we can all agree on, is that none of us want the end of the world." Hern gave them a playful smile, "So, play nice." With that, Hern strode back to the gates, and vanished into the shadows, soon followed by the Companions who had been escorting them. The rest went their respective ways to prepare for the upcoming journey.

Babette was rather interested in how all this would play out in the end. Like what sort of trouble would Hern find? What foes would they face? How many souls would she be sending to Sithis in a new land? And finally, what sort of new challenges would the Dragonborn find? Because one thing was for sure, Hern always found trouble wherever he went. And it never hurt to have an extra shadow, wherever they go. Babette stepped into the shadows and disappeared from sight, a smile on her face that would unsettle most.

Sleeping Giants' Inn, Riverwood…

Hern opened up the door to his room quietly, whispered a few words softly, and faster than a blink of an eye, thrust a dagger what appeared to be a wall, stopping short by several inches, at an unusually high level.

"What's a Thalmor doing here?" Hern's voice was as cold as ice, and unbending as ebony.

At the tip of the knife appeared the throat of a Thalmor Justicar. Although the knife could certainly plunge home into her throat, she showed no fear. Instead, a satisfied smile.

"So the rumors are true. You can see through invisibility." The Justicar was legitimately impressed, with a touch of respect in her voice.

Hern pressed the blade closer. "You didn't answer my question."

The Justicar relented, not feeling like being killed this night. "Very well. I was sent here to tell you that the Thalmor will not interfere with the business of one of the Divines, which by extension, means you, I suppose."

Hern didn't pull back yet. "How did you know?"

"My mother. She was in the Imperial City when Tiber Septim channeled Akatosh to banish Mehrunes Dagone. She recognized the glow."

"I thought the Thalmor wanted everyone to think they did it themselves."

The Justicar relented, "It is, admittedly, propaganda. But she was there, remembers, and told me herself."

Somewhat satisfied, Hern pulled the dagger down a little, which allowed the Thalmor to relax and slump a little, almost disturbingly so, for a Justicar.

"Most people send letters. Why would the Thalmor send a Justicar for a simple message?" Hern wasn't done yet.

But the Justicar seemed ready for the question. "For two reasons. One, you would not have believed the message and thought we were trying to trick you."

Hern found himself having to agree with that, so nodded in agreement.

"Second, because of who my mother is, I am to be an 'insurance policy' or ambassador, if you will. I will be amongst your party. If the Thalmor attack, I would be the bargaining chip."

Hern wasn't quite ready to believe this. "Who's your mother? And why would we trust you? I've ran into plenty of Thalmor that are all too quick to strike down humans and non-Thalmor in general. For all I know, you may stab us in the back the first chance you get."

But the Justicar smiled. "For the latter, you may take whatever precaution you wish with me to insure I do not. For the former, I believe you are rather familiar with her."

Hern felt his stomach sink. "Oh no."

"Yes, my mother is formerly Emissary Elenwen, now Councilor Elenwen since she left Skyrim several years ago."

There was silence for a few more moments. "By the Nine and all! I thought Elenwen was done fucking with my life!" Still keeping his dagger up against the Justicar, Hern face palmed with his other hand in frustration.

"You know, it's no picnic for me either. I AM being sent as a political prisoner to ensure at least a temporary peace," responded the Justicar. And in a lighter hearted, almost carefree tone. Which certainly got Hern's attention.

"Okay, stop that, Justicar."

"Stop what?"  
"Why didn't you berate me for saying 'By the Nine'?"

The Justicar stopped, realizing her mistake.

"Why are you REALLY here?"

The Justicar took a deep breath, and relaxed. When she spoke, the typical Thalmor haughtiness was gone. "Well, I'm not a Justicar. This outfit was just to help me get here by way of certain agents. I'm not even a supporter of the Thalmor. But the rest is true. I'm here to be an ambassador and possible political prisoner. You can even bind me, if you wish. For I am but the disgraced daughter of Councilor Elenwen. The Altmer that befriends humans, and brings public shame to her mother and all Thalmor kind simply by walking down the street. The name is Ardainne."

Hern finally put his dagger away, not seeing a point to it anymore. "Still hard to believe. Besides, it's not me you should convince, Ardainne."

Ardainne raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Who should I convince then?"

Hern, walking toward the chair, pointing behind his back with his thumb, "My wife."

Ardainne turned just in time to catch a fist into her face, and dropped to the floor unconscious in a heap.

Winterfell, North Kingdom.

Arya had said she was sorry. Granted, she had not really meant it, but she had still said it. But apparently slipping the red spices from Dorne into Sansa's cake was an unforgiveable crime. Sansa shouldn't have made fun of her for being bad at sewing earlier, or getting after her for wanting to learn the sword. At least Arya had given her sister a drink to help wash it down. Which may or may not have had some of the strongest wine in the wine cellar in it. And Arya may or may not have learned about such a combination from some of the guards while they were off duty.

But Arya had never liked taking her 'lady lessons'. She didn't want to be some ninny that was enamored by armor or a title like Sansa was. Arya wanted to be the one _wearing_ the armor or title. Right now though, she just wanted a bite to eat after being sent to bed without supper.

Arya waited for the cook to leave the kitchen, and poked her head around, making sure the coast was clear in the kitchens. She put one foot forward, being as silent as she could, until a hand on her shoulder nearly made her jump out of her skin!

A familiar laughter came from behind the youngest Stark girl, but she turned anyway to see her bastard brother Jon Snow behind her. Despite having different mothers, Arya had always gotten along with and loved Jon like she did Robb, her eldest brother. And Jon was one of the few that actually encouraged her to learn the sword and bow. He had even taught her a few things! Though her mother and Septa Mordane certainly did not approve. However, her mother did not because she had never liked Jon. And Septa Mordane because it was 'unladylike'.

"So what are you up to now, Little Wolf?" Jon teasingly asked Arya.

Arya tried fumbling for an answer. "I, I was just making sure there were no layabouts sneaking through here!"

Jon obviously did not believe her, but put a hand on Arya's head, keeping the other behind his back. "Oh? And did you scare any off?" He asked with a knowing smile.

"No, they would be foolish to attack Winterfell as manned as it is."

"Right you are, Little Wolf, right you are." Jon was a bastard son, but despite not knowing a thing about his mother, he had it better than most, and was grateful for that at least. All he really knew was that his father, Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, had brought him home shortly after the war known as Robert's Rebellion. While Ned Stark certainly treated him like a son, and most of his half-siblings treated him like a whole brother, Lady Catelyn Stark, Ned's wife, had always loathed him.

Jon could see Arya growing a little fidgety, and knew she must be hungry, after being sent to her room for putting hot spices into Sansa's lemon cakes. And if he didn't know any better, had spiked Sansa's drink with a very strong wine. A rather, 'potent' combination.

"Growing hungry Little Wolf?" Teased Jon lightly.

Arya shook her head, but as if to catch her in the lie, her stomach growled, which brought a rather flustered face to the girl. Jon was just barely holding back from laughing.

"For your troubles, Ser Arya Stark," said Jon, to which he grabbed one of Arya's hands, and with the other, placed a little treat into his sister's upturned hands. "Good luck patrolling the rest of the night."

Arya watched her brother turn the corner, most likely to go to his rooms. For the life of her, she could never understand why her mother hated Jon, or why Sansa showed such indifference to him. Though Arya thought her sister to be a ninny in the first place, and did not count the opinion of Sansa very highly. Looking down into her hands to see what Jon had given her was a bright and shiny red apple!

Arya took a bite of the crisp fruit, and made her way back to her room for the night, enjoying the delicious apple.

Sleeping Giants' Inn, Riverwood.

Ardainne's head felt like a drum, as if someone was beating on it. And her thoughts only came so fast.

"Think you maybe hit her a little too hard?" A deep, baritone voice said.

Ardainne could almost recognize the voice, but with her head swimming so much, it was hard to concentrate.

"You think I don't know my own strength?" Came a far more feminine voice.

Ardainne didn't recognize that voice though.

"Oh, I know you know your own strength. That's why I asked." That voice again. It reminded the half-conscious Altmer of something, but she still wasn't sure what.

"Well, she was waiting invisible in our room, dressed like a Justicar, and claims to be the daughter of one of the few people to hate you and still live." Retorted the female voice.

Ardainne's head was slowly beginning to clear, as she was able to wake up, albeit, slowly as well. Moaning from the headache still pounding.

"See? She's alive. She's going to have a nasty headache for a while, but she'll be fine Hern."

Then everything snapped almost immediately back into memory for the still dazed Altmer. She was there to negotiate with the Dragonborn, Hern Hammerhand!

Ardainne finally opened her eyes and saw who could only be Hern, wearing a large cloak, and next to him, a woman only a little bit shorter, who's eyes seemed to glow yellow to the Altmer. But Ardainne figured she was still getting over the punch from earlier.

Non-chalantly, Hern asked the Altmer, "Ah, good for you to wake up. But one thing someone must never do, is intrude upon what my wife deems as hers. It has a tendency to backfire, to put it mildly."

The woman who could only be Hern's wife gave the man an exasperated look, before turning her attention to Ardainne, "What he means is, I don't take kindly to people sneaking into our room, invisible, wearing clothes from a group of people that would not mind seeing both of us dead."

Hern gave a light hearted grin, "That too. Though it amazes me that some still try that."

Ardainne could only give the man an odd look, wondering how he could take previous assassination attempts so lightly. But she quickly found that she was bound to the chair in the room, and couldn't move anything other than her head.

"Well, I suppose I did say you may take precautions with me," said Ardainne, feeling almost regretful about the words now.

That's when the Altmer saw Hern pull out a bottle and his wife pull out a small, non-descript ring that gave off a small glow. Ardainne didn't know what sort of potion that was, or what the enchanted ring might do, but it seemed the two were taking her words too heart. Almost too seriously for her liking.

"Don't worry miss daughter of Elenwen. This is no poison, though it may taste like such. It's merely for that headache you have. Besides, if I wanted you dead, you would have been pinned to the wall as the newest decoration," responded Hern, after seeing the Altmer's reaction to the objects. Ardainne was inclined to believe him, going by his reputation, and took the potion as he put it to her lips and slowly poured it in.

The Altmer breathed a sigh of relief when Hern pulled it back, as she did feel the pounding headache reside substantially, and no burning or other noticeable effects of poison made themselves known either. Though the taste was terrible, and could barely stomach it.

Hern set the bottle down on the nightstand, while his wife went to sit on the bed, with the candle still lit, and pulled a book out to read. Hern turned back to the Altmer and leaned against the wall before speaking again.

"Just for clarification, your name is Ardainne, yes?"

She nodded, but Hern shook his head, "Speak up. Serana's reading is taking up most of the light." Which earned a little glare from the woman on the bed.

"Yes, my name is Ardainne, daughter of Elenwen of the Thalmor High Council," Ardainne spoke, a little annoyed she had to repeat that.

"And you were sent to be a bargaining chip and as an act of good faith?"

"Yes, though it pains her and many others, they witnessed the light several nights ago and knew it to be one of the Divines. They have no intention of bringing down the wrath of them."

Hern rubbed his chin in thought, processing this. "Interesting. Quite. Now, were you sent to be a spy as well?"

"I was. In order to learn of your plans, and if they involved the Thalmor in anyway, I was to send a report immediately." Adrianne's eyes grew wide. _"What in the name of Oblivion!?"_ But before she could think much further, Hern continued his questioning.

"That said, did you have any actual intent of being a spy?"

"No, so long as it did not involve harm coming to my mother. We do not see eye to eye on many things, but she is still my mother." Ardianne was growing frustrated, unable to stop herself from spilling such information.

Hern nodded, and mumbled about it being fair enough. "And are you as you claim, a 'living disgrace to the Thalmor way'? In that you do not agree with them?"

"Y-yes, t-that is true." Adrianne was trying to resist telling them everything, but was failing miserably.

"One last question. Why would Elenwen send you, her daughter, for this?"

Adrianne tried to resist, but it was no use. "Because even she knows that going against the Divines is a fool's errand! And. And." Adrianne was resisting, not wanting to bring up those memories, beginning to tear up as she did not want these strangers to know about what happened in the past! But it was as if trying to fight a force of nature.

"That's enough." Hern spoke as if he were commanding something.  
Almost immediately, whatever had been making Adrianne spill everything, vanished, but she felt light headed. While in this state, she felt a ring slide over one of her fingers, and seemingly fit perfectly. Not too tight, but not loose either.

"You didn't have to push her THAT hard Hern," spoke Serana from behind Adrianne.

"I wanted to make sure." Hern contemplated for a moment, and then drew his dagger and cut Adrianne's bonds free.

"What, what did you do to me?" Gasped Adrianne, still trying to recover.

"Simple. I mixed a little extra into that health potion I gave you. A little concoction I came across a while back. Difficult to make, but very much worth it. I had to make sure, beyond a doubt, that you were telling the truth. Because although you were honest at first, anyone who has dealt with the Thalmor before would immediately think 'trap'. But don't worry. The light headedness will pass shortly, and the rest of the effects will be gone by morning," explained Hern, eyes impassive.

"What will you do with me?"

Hern folded his arms back over his chest, coming to a decision that he wasn't overly thrilled about. "I suppose you'll be joining us. But anything you learn, you keep secret unless either Serana or myself say otherwise. Anything you wish to send back to your mother, goes through us as well. And until fully satisfied, I will be having a watch kept on you. But no harm will come to you, so long as you do not harm my family, friends, or myself. Deal?"

Adrianne's head was clearing again, and was glad that the Dragonborn had agreed, if under much undesired circumstances. "Deal. But aren't you worried about me using magic?"

Hern gave a smug smile and glanced to Serana, who answered the silent shift of questioning, "The ring I put on you will drain all of your magicka should you try and cast a spell. If you try to take it off, you'll receive a nasty shock. Non-lethal, but hardly pleasant. If anyone other than myself attempts to remove it, including my semi-competent husband, they too will receive a nasty shock."

"And if I need to defend myself?" asked a now worried Adrianne, picking herself up.

Hern's smile changed from a smug one, to a genuine one. "You DO know how to use a sword, right?"

A couple weeks later, Imperial Capitol City, Cyrodiil.

The guards stationed at the main gates to the White Gold Tower were the elite of the elite of the Imperial soldiers. Their duty was to guard the tower from any and all dangers, and to protect the Elder Council until a new Emperor was declared.

The guards immediately tensed up when a group of people, dressed in a variety of armor and clothes, approached, all of them armed, down to the two fourteen year-olds with short swords at their hips. The group was led by a Nord, who was slightly bigger than the typical Nord, but not overly so. The guards, as per training, got into stances, ready to fight off the potential intruders if need be.

To the guards' surprise though, the Nord at the front, along with the woman next to him, the two children, an Altmer, and a Bosmer all dismounted from their horses, while the rest remained mounted. The ones still mounted, took the reins of the now riderless horses and headed back out the gate. The Nord that had rode in the lead, began approaching the guards, reaching into his cloak.

"Halt! In the name of the Empire!" shouted the guard captain, an Imperial of middling age.

The Nord stopped, and pulled his hand out with what appeared to be a letter, and held his other hand out to the side, showing he had no weapons in hand. The guard captain came over and grabbed the letter, and as he read it, he began to visibly sweat and glance back at the Nord, face paling, who remained calm throughout it. The guard captain handed the letter back and told the other guards, much to their surprise, to let the group through.

"But Captain! What about-"

"Stuff if soldier. That man was sent for. Elder Council orders." The guard captain wasn't about to tell him who exactly the man was, as he himself could hardly believe it.

"My thanks Captain. And no worries, I know you were just doing your job," commented the Nord, as he held the door open for those that followed him into the tower, and went in after them.

"Captain, who were they?" asked one of the guards.

The captain turned to them, "Let's just say, that if he's here, something big is going to happen soon, soldier." Which earned him some questioning looks, but none pressed the obviously stunned Captain of the Guard.

Inside the White Gold Tower…

Hern, his family, and the two Mer Folk made their way through the tower until Hern heard a very familiar voice call out to him.

"By Oblivion, it is you!"

Hern turned to see General Tullius, flanked by a couple of soldiers, coming towards him. Hern smiled, waved, and bellowed, "General Tullius! Glad to see you!" Hern let his excitement of seeing the general get the better of him a little, and made everyone in the hall cover their ears. Though Hern didn't bother with titles for the most part, he used them for those that had earned his respect, with Tullius being one of them, if the situation called for it.

Tullius clapped Hern on the shoulder. "It took you long enough to get here. I was worried if the messenger got to you."

"He got there alright, but I got, diverted, for several very good reasons." Hern emphasized the last part, while moving his eyes towards Serana and the others.

Tullius got the hint. "Praefect!" ordered the general.

The soldier standing to Tullius' right saluted, "Sir!"

"Take the Private and show the Lady and the other guests around the Tower. They're here on the Elder Council's orders. Meanwhile, my friend here and I will go and meet the Council right now."

Both soldiers saluted, and took up positions on either side of Hern's party, and began giving them a tour.

Waiting for the group to round the corner, Tullius turned to Hern. "So you and Lady Serana finally got hitched? Sorry I couldn't make the wedding." The two began to walk towards the Council Chambers, with Tullius leading the way slightly.

"Nothing to worry about. I knew you were down here, and to try to make to Riften on such short notice would have been nearly impossible." Reassured Hern.

"Still though, I wish you both happy and long lives together," responded Tullius, but a question he wanted confirmation on had been burning his tongue for some time now.

"So, what was that light a few weeks back Hern? And the sky too?"

"Ah, Tullius. I don't wish to ruin the surprise just yet. Besides, I only want to tell this story once."

Tullius nodded, knowing Hern didn't like public speaking, despite having an inborn ability for it. Tullius thought it was a wasted talent, but Hern had made it clear that he preferred others doing the public speaking if possible.

"So, what's with the Bosmer and Altmer?" asked Tullius.

"An odd set of circumstances, but considering my luck with coming across people before, I think they may play a larger part than what I know. What that part is, I don't really know. As for who they are? The Bosmer was a Thalmor prisoner before escaping and getting caught up with a group of bandits. Turns out, she's deathly afraid of handling weapons. Hasn't said why though, but she's been opening up to Lucia and Blaise bit by bit, along with Lydia. For the Altmer, I guess she's kind of an emissary of sorts from the Thalmor." Rambled Hern.

Tullius stopped, and it took a few steps more before Hern realized this.

"She's a Thalmor!? What did she do to get you to let her live!? How can you trust a Thalmor agent Hern!?" Tullius was in shock and anger with Hern. "I know you're smarter than to let her run around like that!"

"Peace, Tullius," Hern nearly commanded the general. "I found out the truth, if in an unconventional way, and I trust her. To a degree, anyway. And I have taken steps to ensure she doesn't decide to switch on us in the heat of battle. But I am keeping an eye on both, Tullius. You know how careful I am with who I trust."

Tullius was silent. He was one of the few who knew what happened to the last emperor. It was a sore spot between the two, but he couldn't deny the flipside of things regarding the situation. And the events that had led up to the last emperor's death. Tullius had often thought the previous emperor, while a good man, was sadly a weak ruler. Since his death, the Elder Council had taken over governing the Empire until a new emperor could be found. Tullius had tried suggesting Hern, to start a new Dragonborn line of Emperors, but had flat out refused.

Tullius had also heard about the infighting of the Thieves Guild, and had later been filled in on what had happened. Tullius knew that Hern only put his full trust into those that Hern could fully trust, but it still left him with a lump of lead in his stomach.

"If you say so Hern." Tullius decided to switch topics while they still had some time. "So how much DO you know about the message?"

Hern's face twisted into frustration and a touch of anger. "Enough to know that it could be as bad as Alduin or Miraak, but where it's supposed to happen, when it's supposed to happen, and who I can rely on other than those I know, I don't have a clue. Have you heard anything?"

Tullius glanced at his friend. "A little more than I like. But perhaps the Council will be more open with you there. Ah! Here we are."

The two stopped before a large set of doors, with a guard on either side, at full attention with Tullius there. One of them spoke up, "Sirs, the Councilors are expecting both of you."

The two nodded to the guard and went in.

Serana, much to her surprise, was enjoying the tour of the White Gold Tower. She had been locked up in that crypt for millennia, sleeping away events, wars, and empires. Much of the time between her going in there and Hern finding her and waking her up was lost. Although they had found a few books that helped fill in the gaps, they were but a pittance to what the Tower afforded her. Here, she could fill in the blanks of history, at least some of it.

As Serana and the group were walking through one of the many galleries, a statue caught her eye, and she couldn't help but look at it. One of the soldiers that had been showing them around came to her side.

"Ah, I see you found the replica of the Avatar of Akatosh himself, Martin Septim." The soldier prided herself on history during her off duty hours, learning about such things fascinated her. "He was the last recognized Dragonborn Emperor. He supposedly spent much of his life as a Priest to Akatosh, though a few books suggest otherwise. And though he was the last Dragonborn Emperor, his reign was also the shortest. Shortly after being recognized as the last heir of the Septim Dynasty, he sacrificed his life to throw Mehrunes Dagon back into Oblivion, and saved Tamriel, though the Thalmor will try to tell you different."

Serana leaned back in thought. _"So that was Martin Septim. But if he was the last Dragonborn Emperor, how did Hern become the Last Dragonborn? Not a title lightly given in a prophecy. A gap of two centuries, much of it rebuilding what Mehrunes Dagon destroyed, and a lot of chaos to be sure during that time. So much unanswered."_ Serana spotted the sculpture next to Septim, one of a woman wearing an ornate version of Imperial Heavy Armor, raising a sword into the air in defiance.

"And that would be the woman who found, rescued, and empowered Martin Septim. The Hero of Kvatch, and the last True Tamrielic Hero until the Dragonborn several years ago. There are a lot of rumors and hypotheses on her background, as well as what happened to her afterwards." Said the guard.

Serana gave the guard a questioning look.

The guard was happy to oblige, "Some rumors say she went into hiding after the Oblivion Crisis. Some say she fought, killed, and became the current Mad God Daedric Prince, though I find that hard to believe. But her real name has been lost to history, as well as her own past and life after the Crisis."

Serana looked back at the guard. "What do you think happened to her?"

"Honestly, my Lady? I don't know. There are so many conflicting theories out there, I don't know what to believe. Some even say she was in charge of the Dark Brotherhood, Fighter's Guild, Mage's Guild, and was the Grey Fox, all at the same time." The guard shook her head. "No one could bend so many ways at once, and also be the Hero of Kvatch and close so many Gates. It just cannot be done."

Serana thanked the guard and rejoined the group without saying anything else. _"The leader of so many groups, Hero of Tamriel in her darkest hour, and vanished without trace? Sounds a little too familiar."_ Serana was determined to NOT let her husband and his deeds fade into history, and would make sure his name be known to all. So that none could doubt him. Although she knew Hern did not like the attention, Serana knew he deserved to be remembered, at least as inspiration to future generations. And as an immortal vampire, she knew how to plan for the long term. She and the guard rejoined the rest of the group looking through other such historical artifacts.

Elder Council Chambers…

Hern and Tullius entered the Council Chambers, where the Imperial Elder Council was in session. In the years since the Oblivion Crisis, and the intervening years, the Elder Council had been reformed. Instead of dragging the leaders of each province from home to the Capitol, appointed officials by each province's leader(s) would take their place. Three from each official.

"Now announcing General Tullius of the Sixth Legion in Skyrim, Commanding Officer of the Legion that brought peace back to Skyrim. Now Announcing the Dragonborn Hero of Skyrim, Hern 'Ysmir of the North' Hammerhand, Thane of Skyrim and all of Her Holds."

Hern was about to say something, but closed his mouth before anyone noticed, rather thinking it to himself. _"You forgot Harbringer of the Companions, Leader of the Thieves Guild, Liege to the newly Reformed Blades, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, and oh so many more, my good crier."_ Hern figured the less these people knew about _those_ parts of him, the better.

"Welcome Dragonborn. General Tullius has told us many things about you," said a man that Hern could only suppose would be the voice from the council here.

"All good, I hope." Responded the deadpanned Hern.

"Of course. But the business we have called you for is not, I fear. The reason being, is that during a recent study of the Elder Scroll of the Sun, the Moth Priest witnessed an invasion by an army composed of the dead. He told us that the numbers were too great to count. And that they are led monsters unheard of here in Tamriel, that are immune to the bite of steel. The scroll showed him that, in time, this army would make its way to Tamriel and sweep all aside without mercy."

The speaker was showing a fair amount of sweat from the news from the Scroll. And as Hern looked around the room, he could sense an all too familiar emotion emitting from each of them. Terror. Whatever it is the Moth Priest had told them, they had cut out the fluff. What that 'fluff' was, Hern wasn't sure he wanted to know.

But Hern had questions that needed answers. "You say these monsters would eventually make their way to Tamriel and be able to sweep aside all armies. Where would they come from to receive such strength?"

The speaker, who had closed his eyes and said a quiet prayer to the Divines, opened them again, "Have you heard of the land known as 'Westeros', Dragonborn?"

Hern had to think that one over. "I think I read about it in a book once. But it's hard to say."

"I'm not surprised. As of right now, there are precious few notes on the land. And many people that have heard of it, believe it to be legend. But you of all people should know the truth of legends," responded the speaker.

Hern nodded, knowing from far too much experience that truth about so-called legends, waiting for the speaker to continue.

"From what little we know, Westeros lays far to the East, beyond even that of Akavir. And the notes we have, are, quite honestly, ancient in origin. We know that there are people there, more than that, we have nothing but vague references to what could be nearly anything. One thing, however did stand out. The most recent article we could find came from a few centuries ago, in that there were once dragons there, and that they were considered a symbol of oppression. But before we continue from here, Dragonborn, do you know what that light was a few weeks ago? We feel it may be important. As we had reports not only from Skyrim and Cyrodiil, but from every province of Tamriel, that they witnessed the sky open and a brilliant light descend."

Hern smiled at the question, remembering what had happened, and began his tale. At first, the Councilors turned from their fear, to almost disbelief, until Hern got to the part of the dead army. The looks on the Councilors' faces confirmed his suspicions that something horrible had happened during the Moth Priest's reading. But Hern continued, not wanting to stop. The Council already knew about how the remaining dragons had become 'tamed', so to speak, and Hern felt they should know about the other threat.

When he finished, the silence in the hall was deafening, and he could hardly blame the council. It was bad enough worrying about one threat to the world, but now they may have to contend with three potential Alduins as well? It was mortifying.

Finally, the speaker responded. "These additional issues only make what we ask of you all the more urgent, Dragonborn. We ask that you make haste to Solitude to gather in the forces you will need. And, by the authority invested in me by the rest of the Elder Council, I hereby dub thee Dragonborn, official Emissary of Empire of Tamriel. To act as you see fit in order to stop these threats. And to forge relations and alliances to the peoples you encounter as the official representative of the Empire. General Tullius and the Sixth Legion in Skyrim will be accompanying you to these lands. These soldiers in particular, seem to be quite supportive of you. You will be given the ships, materials, and supplies needed for a long voyage, and part of a campaign. Next, if at all possible, to establish official communications between Tamriel and Westeros. By land, sea, or air. And finally, we implore you to be discreet in regards to your, affiliation, with dragons. It could have unintended consequences. Their lands are not ours, and do not know of the Dragonborn like we do."

Hern nodded at the last part, completely agreeing. But he felt he at least owed these men and women some respect. They had held up their bargain, until a real threat had appeared, one that had them scared, for good reason, and had asked for his help. Hern bowed to them. "Thank you for this honor Councilors." Straightening up, "I will do my best to ensure that these threats do not come to fruition. The general and I must be off then. The sooner we can stop these threats, the better for everyone." With that, Hern and General Tullius left the room, with quiet prayers that they succeed emanating from each of the councilor's mouths to the Divines.

After leaving the Council Chambers, Hern and Tullius went searching for Serana and the others. And Hern, though reluctant, had to ask his friend something.

"Tullius, what happened during the Reading?"

Tullius' face became grave and dark. "Hern, let's just say those of us in attendance that day saw what would happen if we fail. And I can only envy that the Moth Priest didn't have to suffer the nightmares we've had ever since.

Hern's face darkened as much as Tullius' as they made their way down the hall.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5. Reunions.

General Tullius and Hern had met up with Serana and the others to go for a bite to eat. The Circle of the Companions had already booked an Inn for themselves, while Hern would find another in the city for the others. And if the Companions needed Hern, or Hern the Companions, they knew how to locate one another.

While heading back through the gates, the group heard someone call out to them, "Wait! Sirs, please wait!"

They all turned to see a couple of soldiers that appeared to be off duty, running towards them. Hern gave Tullius a questioning look, but the General simply relaxed upon seeing the two soldiers. So Hern took the hint, and moved his hand from his sword. And indicated for Serana to not let loose the magic she had been charging.

"General! And uh, should we call you Legate or Dragonborn, sir?" asked the lead soldier, a Nord just a little older than Hern, the Redguard beside him having a similar expression to her fellow soldier, one of excitement.

Hern was a little surprised that a couple of soldiers in Cyrodiil knew him by sight, and he guessed he had let it show on his face when both straightened to attention and explained. "Sir, we were there when you led the charge through Ulfric's gates in the battle. We were right behind you the whole way."  
The Dragonborn hadn't expected any veterans of the Civil War, much less ones from the Battle of Windhelm, to be here. "Glad to see you both again, soldiers. But I'm not one big on formalities, so call me Hern. And you are?"

The Nord answered first, "Auxillary Korrig, sir! I mean, Hern!"

"Quaestar Maeheda, Hern, sir!" The Redguard was a bit more of a stickler for rules than her counterpart, it seemed to Hern.

Korrig than explained why they had come, still at attention, "We heard that you were coming. And we just wanted to let you know, si-Hern, you have our thanks for ending the Civil War and stopping Alduin! Thanks to you, our families have been able to live peacefully."

The two soldiers saluted Hern, who was taken aback by the gesture and gratitude, but before he could get another word in, the two were gone.

Tullius gave a light hearted laugh, "Don't worry about them Hern. They're good soldiers, if a little more excitable than normal."

"I was more wondering what a couple of the Sixth Legion's troops were doing here? No other troops in the other legions would know my face at all," wondered Hern.

"Well, they became my escort down here to the Capitol, with some others. Proved themselves good at holding off not only Stormcloaks, but bandits too." Hern detected a bit of pride in the General's voice.

Losing a bit of patience, Serana cut in, "This is all well and good, but we should find a place to stay for the night, and something to eat as well."

As if in response, several stomachs made obvious noises in their displeasure at having been ignored.

Tullius got a little chuckle out of it, but had a suggestion. "If I may Lady Serana, I know of a place with good food, a relaxed setting, and rooms you can rent for the night. It's a little way into the city, but I think you all may like it!"

The group had no other plans, and so followed the General into town. Although Hern had grown up in the city, it had been several years since he had last been there, and was unfamiliar with some of the places they passed. So Tullius doubled as a tour guide, showing them which shops sold what, good and bad inns, and so on.

As they were going by the Arena, a group women dressed in tanned leathers, came out holding shortened spears, with long knives at their sides, and leather bucklers on their wrists.

"Father, who are they?" asked Lucia, fascinated by the group.

Hern looked, and something tickled the back of his mind. "Oh, I remember them! They're a group that had just started before I left for Skyrim! They're like a team of fighters for the Arena. I remember something about them refusing to use swords or the like, and preferring spears. What about you, Tullius? Know anything about them?"

Tullius looked at the women, "Ah, yes. They call themselves the 'Spear Maidens' and fight like a dremora with their spears. One of the more behaved groups of fighters, though a little touchy about the oddest things. But of all the Arena Teams, they have the best records, in both singles and teams."

Lucia couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to train with a spear and become like those warriors. Not that the Companions were bad teachers or fighters, but something about the group intrigued her.

However, as they went on, Serana, Lucia, Blaise, Ardainne, and Elsen (Tullius was ahead of them) noticed that Hern seemed to be growing, anxious? Were they right about that assumption? They weren't sure, as they had never seen him act like this before. If anything, it put the group on edge, wondering what could make Hern act like this.

As the group grew more on edge, as Hern acted odder and odder, a voice from among the ruckus streets made the Nord freeze in his tracks, face paling, and eyes grow wide.

"Hern? Hern! You little shit, that is you!" Boomed a voice. Immediately, Serana readied an ice spell, Elsen put her hands up to fight (if a little reluctantly), Ardainne pushed Blaise and Lucia closer to Hern and pulled out her blade, while the two kids pulled out their respective daggers. Tullius turned to see what was going on, and see the group readying for battle, pulled his own sword to face the threat.

They didn't have to wait long, as seconds later, a woman appeared, one slightly taller than Hern and looked to be several years older, with light blonde hair and brown eyes, seemingly on fire. But unarmed. Hern tried to make a mad dash for a nearby alleyway, surprising his family and the elves under his protection. But even more to their surprise, the woman brushed through them without even trying, possibly not even realizing they were there, and quickly caught up to Hern.

The group rushed to help Hern, but were too late. As the woman first grabbed a hold of Hern's shirt, pulling him towards her, and when close enough, grabbed his ear, like a mother would a child! But what made not only Hern's group stop, but even the nearby people in the area, was what the woman said. Or in this case, shouted.

"For over five years, FIVE Oblivion cursed years, we hadn't heard a damned thing from you! And now all of a sudden you're back home and didn't even bother to try and find us!? What would mother say!"

"Ow! Ow! Ow!" Cried out Hern, unable to get out of the vice-like grip.

Serana approached the two, hands on her hips, anger on her face. For who, she wasn't sure yet. In a stern voice, "Hern, what does she mean by that? And who is this woman?"

The Nord woman let go of Hern, who immediately clutched his ear, attention on Serana now. "And how do you know my troublesome brother?"

Hern had a sinking feeling he would rather be facing Alduin at that moment, as the two women turned to him, both growling at him, "Hern, you've got some explaining to do!"

King's Landing, Tower of the Hand.

Jon Arryn was feeling quite tired. Tired of the political machinations of the city. Tired of the stench. Tired of a man who, despite being like a son to him, and once a great warrior, had been throwing away everything he had won and only cared for whores and wine. And not necessarily in that order. If Arryn had his way, Robert would be sitting on the throne, and actually doing the damned job he had defeated the Targaryens for.

Jon relaxed his tense muscles in defeat. Why was he fooling himself? Robert had never been Kingly material. Even as a boy, Robert had been hot headed and preferred fighting over learning to rule and govern. Jon admitted, Robert had been one of the best fighters in all of Westeros. Now? He was just a fat man drowning himself to an early grave that grumbled about the past, never letting it go. But Jon would still do what he could to try and put the kingdom back on the right track. It was his duty. And for all of Robert's faults, Jon still cared for him like a son.

Sitting back from his desk for a moment, Jon wondered what it would have been it had been another one of his charges took the throne instead. Eddard Stark. The man was noble, honest, intelligent, and honorable. His banners all respected him. Not feared or loathed him as many other minor houses were want to do. And he ran the North quite well. _"And if there is one man in Westeros more honor bound than I, it would be Ned."_ He thought. Still though, that was an idle fantasy at best. Ned had needed to return to Winterfell after the war, with the deaths of most of his family, it left him as the new Warden of the North practically by default. And Ned never cared for political machinations.

That's when Jon heard a knock at his door.

"Come in. I'm at my desk, so make yourself comfortable."

Jon heard the door open, and after a few soft thuds of slippered feet on the floor, the door closed.

"Good evening, Lord Hand." Came an almost melodic voice.

Jon Arryn immediately turned to see the bald and rotund Master of Whispers, also dubbed 'the Spider', Varys. Jon had never been sure what to make of the man, but knew that Varys controlled a lengthy spy network that stretched from Dorne, all the way to the Wall. And possibly even some in Essos.

"What do you need at this hour Varys?" commanded the Hand of the King.

Varys stopped and studied Jon, which gave the Hand a slight chill, as if Varys were reading his deepest thoughts. After a moment, Varys answered, "I believe one of my little birds have found another, Lord Hand. A boy whom is currently wandering Flea Bottom. And rather large for his age."

Jon quirked his eyebrows, not expecting such a quick report. _"If it turns out to be true, perhaps we can assist the poor lad,"_ Jon thought to himself.

Although Varys' face remained unchanging, the wheels inside were certainly grinding. He had a certain amount of respect for Jon Arryn, a man, despite everything going against him, did his best to try and fix the Kingdom. But a popular saying that had been around for some time, rung depressingly true for King Robert; The King does what the King wants. And because Robert did what he wanted, the Kingdom was broke and in debt, and many other problems were boiling. Many that not even Varys knew of, as loathe as he was to admit it. But trouble was always brewing, particularly in King's Landing.

"Thank you, Varys. I'll make sure the boy is taken in somewhere."

Varys nodded, and quietly exited. He bore these little ones no harm nor ill intent. It was not their fault their father was incompetent. But Varys had other businesses to attend to this night. After all, it was not just Robert's bastards he was keeping tabs on.

Cyrodiil, Capitol City…

Needless to say, Hern had been in far more comfortable situations. Like when he was about to be executed by the Empire. Kidnapped by Astrid while sleeping. Even that whole Eye of Magnus debacle. He wondered how that headsman was doing right about now.

Standing over him were two very upset women, with Tullius, Lucia, Blaise, Ardainne, and Elsen at a nearby table. One of the few things he was thankful for at that moment, was that the _situation_ was brought inside a nearby Inn. It really wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

"Well Hern? Not only did you run off years ago, but now you come back home, in the custody of the famous General Tullius, and you started a family! Without sending any messages!? What would mother think if she were still here!" exclaimed a rather tall Nord woman.

Hern, felt himself slip into an annoyed mood, "The only thing that would kill mother, is a damned inferno backed by the Daedric Princes. She's too stubborn otherwise."

The woman replied back with vitriol, "I never said she died, you oaf! She's off visiting friends in High Rock! While father is conducting business with some nobility in Hammerfell!"

Meanwhile Serana was glaring at him with eyes demanding to know what was going on.

"Um, ma'am?" spoke up Blaise. He was unsure how to address the woman berating his adoptive father.

The woman turned to the boy, and her face turned into a rather warm one, "Yes child?"

"A-are y-you.." Blaise trailed off, too caught off guard at the sudden shift of personalities, and at the berating his father had just had, but his sister caught on to what he was trying to say.

"What my brother is trying to ask, are you really our father's sister? And does that make you, well, our aunt?" Lucia was a little wary. As the last aunt and uncle she had, had kicked her out into the streets. Thankfully, Hern, her father now, had found her shortly after and offered her a home.

The woman put a hand on both Lucia's and Blaise's heads, still smiling warmly, "Yes on both accounts. You can call me Aunt Rohki." Turning towards a barmaid, Rohki called out to her, "Be a dear and get everyone a good meal. On the house!" To which the barmaid nodded and scurried off to get it ready.

Then Rohki eyed Serana, and began to investigate her closely. Apparently too much for the vampire as she pushed Rohki's head back saying, "Yeah, that's a little too close."

Rohki put her hand to her chin in thought, making the area of the Inn they were at seem awfully quiet. Until Rohki spoke up again, "Yes. I think even mother and father would approve of you. Confident, intelligent, not afraid to tell people off, and you hold yourself proudly. As an added bonus, you are quite the looker."

Suddenly Rohki picked up Serana in a big hug, surprising the vampire, with both the hug and the sheer strength Rohki had. "Oh, we'll be great sisters! I've always wanted one, but Hern always hated it when I tried to put him into dresses when we were little!"

"Rohki! The hell!?" Hern was turning red. The last thing he needed was for his sister to bringing up things like that. Unfortunately, it backfired, badly on him. As it got Rohki's attention back on him.

"Now as for YOU, Hern. You still haven't said why you never wrote!" Rohki bellowed.

Hern gave a defeated sigh. "I'll tell you, but what if the owner of this Inn hears us?"

For once, Rohki smiled at her brother. "That won't be a problem, because you're looking at her!"

"Woah, wait sis. If you own it, then that meEEEEANS!" Before Hern could finish, a giant of an Orc had picked him up from behind in a bear hug.

"So good to see you again Hern! It's been so long!" Cried out the Orc. And to many people's surprise, he was literally crying.

Barely able to breathe, let alone talk, Hern was barely able to voice, "Missed you too pal." Hern thought he could feel some ribs cracking.

"You can set me down now Duraac," barely breathed out Hern.

"Oh, right." The giant of an Orc set down Hern. "I heard everything from the kitchens! You're not the only one to have a new family after the last few years!" Exclaimed the happily crying Orc.

Catching his breath from the bone crushing hug, and seeing his family, Mer charges, and Tullius wonder what was going on, Hern guessed it was time to introduce them formally to the Orc and his sister. "Serana, kids, everyone, meet my sister Rohki and, I guess her now husband, and my best friend since we were kids, Duraac."

Duraac immediately went straight for the kids, but was stopped by Rohki and Hern. "Uh, may want to watch the hugs Duraac. They're not quite as durable as I am."

Duraac nodded once, and turned his full attention back to his new niece and nephew. And his eagerness to get to know them was, at first, a little off putting. But a nod from their father was all the reassurance they needed, and began to talk with him. Hern was going to give the go ahead to the two Elves, but noticed they were now quite busy eating their meal, and shrugged it off.

That's when Rohki tapped him on the shoulder. "So, are you going to tell me what happened now?"

Hern saw the look in his sister's eyes, and felt the guilt come immediately. She had been the only person to ever make him feel like that, that he knew of. Serana, he thought, might be able to, but that wasn't the kind of personality she had. "If we can have a quiet place to talk, sis."

Rohki led her brother to a little used room and shut the door behind her. Before Hern could begin, Rohki dashed over and hugged her brother, tears flowing freely. "You just vanished that day, without a word! We all thought you had died! I was out there, looking for you Hern, but there wasn't any trace! Please don't ever do that again!"

"I know. I'm sorry sis. I really am. But what I am about to tell you, you shouldn't tell anyone beyond Duraac. And make sure he doesn't tell anyone either. It's bad enough some people out there know I already have a wife and kids. If they found out I have a sister and brother-in-law, that had been my friend since we were little, and not under my immediate protection, I don't even want to think about what would happen to you two," Confessed Hern, hugging his sister back.

Pulling back to see what her brother was talking about, and trying to speak through her sobs, Rohki asked, "W-what are you t-talking about Hern? O-our family h-has been merchants. We do-"

"Rohki." When Hern spoke, it made Rohki stop sobbing and talking altogether. Almost as if commanded to.

"The reason I vanished, the reason why I never contacted you or Duraac, and the reason why I'm with General Tullius, I will explain. I don't know if you'll believe me or not. And if I hadn't seen it myself, I wouldn't have believed it either. But you deserve to know, regardless." Hern took a deep breath. Though he had told this story many times before, he had never told it to someone who knew him _before_ he became the Dragonborn. To someone who knew him before he came to Skyrim. To someone that was, in his eyes, his only family from Cyrodiil.

"It all started five years ago, after I left home. I was walking the border of Skyrim, looking for a place to stay…"

Inn, Common Room…

General Tullius was enjoying himself. He usually did in the more comfortable but down to earth Inns and taverns, but he was a bit more than usual this time. He had never known that Hern, the Dragonborn, Hero of Skyrim, could be cowed by his older sister. In fact, he had never known Hern to speak of family from before he came to Skyrim. Yet here he was, meeting an Orc that had actually grown up right along with Hern. Still, that had to be the biggest Orc Tullius had ever seen.

Strangely enough, despite his size, which Tullius thought he would make an excellent berserker, the Orc was rather passive, if more openly affectionate than most Orsimer tended to be. And if the food he was eating was any judge, a damn good cook too.

As for Hern's sister. She was tall for a Nord, and had an inch or so on Hern. And after simply observing her interactions with her brother and his group, he had the feeling she may be a bit overprotective of him. But Tullius liked to play devil's advocate. It could also simply because he hadn't been in contact for several years, and worry was a natural reaction. Either way, it was interesting to meet people that knew Hern before he was Dragonborn.

Thinking back on what Hern had said, a frown came on Tullius' face. The way he had spoken of his mother, and not even mentioning his father. Come to think of it, Tullius knew very little about Hern's history before that day in Skyrim. Maybe he could have someone look into it? No. That wouldn't sit right with him, and Tullius had enough on his plate as it was. He supposed he would wait until the Dragonborn wanted to tell him. He had long ago learned to respect the man's privacy. Meanwhile, Tullius decided he would just finish up this delicious smelling food.

Serana was still pondering what to make of Hern's sister and friend. Shortly after finding and rescuing her from that crypt, she had ended up telling Hern pretty much everything not long after, after a very harrowing journey. And when she asked Hern about his family, he said that they were still alive and well in Cyrodiil, but never went beyond that. She had thought him estranged from his family, though Rohki's reaction to Serana, Blaise, and Lucia completely threw that out the window. And from Rohki's later interactions, it was clear that she cared for her brother quite a bit. Which still left Serana wondering why Hern would leave Cyrodiil like that. It bugged her, but she would find out sooner or later.

Now the Orsimer, that had taken her by surprise. Most Orcs tended to be more on the brutish side in general. This one, despite his ridiculous size, was more teddy bear than warrior. After she had seen Hern and his sister go find a place for a talk, one that would probably turn the woman's hair white before it was over if he kept a lot of the details, the Orsimer had told them all he had known Hern since both were little children, running through the streets of the capitol, often with Rohki. It was clear the three were close. But it only raised more questions as to…

Serana's thoughts drifted off as the steak dinner on her plater wafted its scent to her nose. While eating such foods was no longer necessary for her, she found it hard to pass up such a delicious smelling food. Everyone else had the same thoughts, barely taking time to thank the Orc for such a good meal, too which he beamed proudly at them.

Inn, Private Room at the Inn a few hours later…

"… I don't know what to say to all that Hern."

Hern could see his sister was deeply troubled. He had told her what had happened from the beginning, and why he hadn't contacted her. He had been tempted to, so many times. If only to know how she was doing. While the Thieves' Guild in Skyrim had an extensive network set up throughout the province, and contacts elsewhere in Tamriel, they only had limited knowledge of what happened in the Capitol City. So he didn't even know if she had still been in the city, or even alive.

Nevertheless, Hern could not blame his sister's reaction. Especially to some of the more, interesting, parts. When he had mentioned Serana's true nature to her, Rohki had paled a little, but then shook her head, and listened on with determination. Making herself accept it. Taking it better than Hern had when he first came upon her in that crupt. For his werewolf part, she had simply laughed and said she wanted a little dog. Hern retaliated by calling her a witch, which resulted in his nose getting flicked.

"But nevertheless, you are my brother Hern. And you were never good at making up stories. Even your best lies sounded terrible. But I could tell you were being honest." Rohki responded, a content smile on her face.

Hern breathed a deep sigh of relief, and felt himself relaxing muscles he hadn't known he had tensed up.

"But to think, my little brother, the Dragonborn! The greatest hero in two centuries, maybe more! When mother and fa-"

"Rohki. Do not tell them."

Rohki wanted to glare at her brother, but on he wore an expression that would not accept her saying anything but 'okay'. She saw in Hern's eyes, gone were the days of carefree youth, now replaced by an icy cold look that had seen many things that no one should. She had believed Hern's story, but that look only reinforced it.

Rohki bowed to her brother's will, "I won't. But are you sure, Hern?"

"Rohki, you know why I left. Duraac knows why I left. I'm not going to go back to them." Hern knew his words stung Rohki, but he had to make it clear.

Rohki knew why her brother had left. And couldn't blame him. But without telling her and Duraac, it had hurt them both. Her parents… Well that was something else.

Silence filled the room for several long minutes, until Hern changed the subject, "So how long have you and Duraac been married?"

Rohki's face turned to a little bit of a happier one, "Oh, a little over three years now. And we've been running this Inn for two years."

"I'm happy for both of you. I am. Though, I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner than that sister," fake mocked Hern.

"Oh? And what does that mean, _little_ brother?"

"Just that the two of you had been obvious since we were little. Even mother and father approved of him, odd as that is," quipped Hern, missing his own brand of irony, and partially hissing at even his own mentioning of their parents.

"Everything happens in its own time, brother. But we had a little problem when a certain someone upped and left without telling us. It certainly delayed things. But enough on that, when are you leaving for these lands?"

Hern was silent. He really did not wish to tell her, but he also wanted to. But his sister read him like a book.

"Tomorrow? Even though we have just met again? Well, when will you be back?" Asked Rohki sadly.

Hern, looking at the floor from his seat, could only give a shamed glance to her.

"I see."

Hern hadn't wanted this sort of thing to happen. It was why he had tried to flee her earlier, because he had a feeling it would come to this. He hadn't want to bring her more pain.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want it to come down to this again. I didn't." the Dragonborn explained, frustration evident in his voice.

The two were silent again for some time.

But Rohki gave out a long held sigh, "Well, I suppose we'll just tag along with you."

Hern snapped out of it instantly, jumping up, "By Oblivion and fuck all, NO! It's bad enough some of my family is already caught up in all this! I won't have you throwing away everything you and Duraac built up! I won't have both of you encountering OOMPH!" Hern dropped to the ground, clutching his stomach.

Rohki still had her fist where Hern's stomach had been. A determined look on her face. "I have no doubts it will be dangerous Hern. But, by the Nine, you will not order me about like our parents did you. You are my little brother. This place?" Rohki gestured to the Inn. "This is only an object. Not family. And I will not be left behind by my foolish little brother again."

Rohki took her hand back and rubbed it, wincing at the pain as Hern got back to his feet, catching his breath. "Damn sis, still hit like a troll."

"And you feel like a brick wall, little brother."

"I'm still not crazy about you going. I'm even half tempted to leave Blaise and Lucia here, if I thought they wouldn't sneak off to join me the first chance they got." Said a calmer Hern.

"And nothing about your wife?" Rohki asked light heartedly.

"Serana? I feel bad for any that try and fight _her_. But Rohki, if you two insist on coming, I wouldn't plan on coming back anytime soon, if at all. We're going to lands we know next to nothing about, with no clear course on how to get there, except to go past Akavir." Hern warned.

Rohki gave her brother a look he had used on others all too many times, one that said 'I'm doing this, whether you like it or not'.

"Fine." Hern shook his head. "Meet us in Solitude in Skyrim, or on the road whenever you two are ready. We'll be gathering in troops, resources, and ships. So you'll have time to get there. While with me though, you will have bodyguards. I'm not going to let some bandit, pirate, or someone else kill you because you were to stubborn to accept help." Hern gave his sister a no-nonsense look, to which she reluctantly agreed. "But what about _them_?" Hern knew he didn't have to be any more specific.

"Truth be told Hern, they haven't been back in Cyrodiil for some time, and they barely send any letters. While I take care of things here, I'll send them a message that business is slow and that we're moving away. That should deal with them." Rohki thought she heard Hern mumble something about 'as per usual', but agreed.

Hern was planning for Rohki and Duraac to accompany Tullius when the general left, when a knock on the door came, with the person opening the door seconds later.

Serana took in the sight of her husband and (to her earlier surprise) sister-in-law. Now that she could see them without so much going on, she could see the family resemblance. But she was here because it was getting late, and she wanted her husband to herself for at least one night before leaving for unknown shores, but she wasn't about to say that to his older sister.

"Hern, it's time for bed. Everyone else has already long dozed off. Even that big Orc is snoring on the counter mumbling about the oddest foods he can make." If Serana hadn't seen it for herself, she would have found it funny. If not for some of the ingredients. Though Hern most certainly did.

Rohki face palmed, "Not again. You two can have this room. I'll go and get that husband of mine up to bed."

After Rohki left the room, Serana sat on the bed, and patted her stomach. "You know; it still surprises me that Orcs can cook so well."

Hern smiled. "Duraac has always been a good cook."

Serana quirked an eyebrow, got up from the bed, and wrapped her arms around Hern from behind. "That so? I couldn't help but be reminded of The Gourmet when I ate his cooking. But Duraac's food tasted so much better than the Gourmet's recipes."

Hern turned around to face Serana, staring into her golden eyes, and his smile turned into a knowing one. "Yeah, let's just say that bit, with the Brotherhood, was more than just business. Some was pleasure, but not as much as this." Hern leaned in and kissed Serana, who returned it. The two fell to the bed, blew out the candle, and enjoyed each other's company. Serana didn't want to spoil Hern's contented mood that she had felt the moment she opened the door, and would question him later. After all, it was a long trip back to Solitude. Besides, she wouldn't be able to do this for a while, since, after all, it was a long way back to Solitude.

Solitude, Blue Palace.

High Queen Elisif the Fair was, for the first time in at least three years, quite concerned. She had received the message from the Elder Council about what was to happen; The Dragonborn would lead the Sixth Legion (with Tullius of course), along with the Legion's families, smiths, supplies, and the Dragonborn's own forces that had already gathered. It wasn't concern for Skyrim, for it had seen a quiet peace since the Civil War ended. And the Thalmor all but abandoned it when remnants of the Stormcloaks kept attacking their forces relentlessly.

No, for her it was for those going on this fool's errand she was concerned about. A lot of good men, women, and even children were going to sail East past Akavir, past all known lands, in order to deal with threats that could be disastrous for the world. The biggest blow of all would be sending the Dragonborn himself. The man, simply be being in Skyrim the last few years, had given inspiration to many to rebuild after the Civil War and dragon threat had been dealt with. And he was one of the few that dared to stand against the Thalmor openly. She knew they had tried sending assassins after him before, but all the Thalmor got out of it was the corpses of some of their best.

All though she was vaguely familiar with the Dragonborn, only actually meeting him a few times, the man had inspired a change in her. He refused to bend knee to people at court simply because they had not proved to him that they were even competent. And instead of relying on others to do things for him, he had set out to do them himself. Up until then, she had been taking her advisor's counsel for, essentially, commands. But not after that. Sybil had actually congratulated her in private later on.

And ever since receiving the note, she had set her shipwrights to constructing enough vessels to accommodate so many. Some ships were even being designed solely for provisions and supplies alone, other than the crews. Those sailing would need as much of both as possible, along with supplies to begin farming, mining, and other long term necessities. These people were not just sailing to lands unknown, but would have to set up a permanent settlement and hopefully establish supply and trade lines back to Tamriel.

Elisif hoped they were up to the task, and that not too many perish at sea. One of the greatest surprises though, had been when she and the Elder Council had received official messages that, for the time being, the Thalmor would not interfere with anything involving the Empire. But Elisif could read between the lines. It meant that the Thalmor had some inkling to what was going on, but were being unusually cautious. She thought that when either Tullius or the Dragonborn arrived, she would see if they knew more.

The High Queen of Skyrim, also knew that when the light, and Sovengarde itself opened up in the sky so many days ago, would lead to something big. The threats being her prime suspects. And if even a portion of what the Council told her was true, well, she could feel the shivers going down her spine. _"Times like these, I miss Torygg."_ The man had been a bulwark in life. He had been her foundation. Until that day, that fateful day. The memories of that day still burned in her mind. And Ulfric, she would never be able to forgive for what he had done, and how he had done it. She knew what the Dragonborn had done with the man after defeating him. As much as she loathed the idea of Ulfric still living, she had to admit that his idea had turned out for the better.

But now was not the time to dawdle on such thoughts, as there was still much to do, much to oversee, and to keep the gathering soldiers from causing trouble. The Sixth Legion, much to her surprise, had seemed quite excited about serving with the Dragonborn again. Even giving themselves the unofficial title of "Legion of the Dragon", despite knowing they may never come back. Elisif could only wonder how Dragonborn would react to that name, as such honories often left him feeling anxious.

Road between Riverwood and Whiterun…

"Dammit all! This is the fifth group so far!" Roared Hern. Hern and his group, now bigger due to Tullius, a platoon of soldiers that were his escort, and Hern's sister and her husband, had made their way back to Skyrim. But they kept running into bandits, at ever an increasing rate. While Hern usually expected bandits every so often, this was getting ridiculous.

Hern parried the sword strike from the bandit with his own, sliced the bandit's wrist, and then beheaded the fool, in a continuous motion. Hern then stepped aside as a huge axe struck where he had been standing, Hern having heard the bandit come thanks to his Werewolf senses. But the Nord wielding the axe recovered quickly and took a big swipe at Hern, who jumped back, out of reach, long enough for the axe to go by. After the axe went by, Hern rushed in and stuck his sword through the Nord's throat, getting splattered by blood.

Hern withdrew his blade from the corpse and looked around at the rest. What really stumped him, was how aggressive these bandits were. Usually they avoided confrontations with large groups of armed people. But the ones on the journey back held no such reservations. Even with their aggressive attack, the bandits had been outnumbered from the get-go, and the Legion's soldiers had excellent discipline. The Companions had made short work of many, guarding Hern's family and Elven charges. Of whom, Elsen still went pale when confronted with weapons, and the last attack had wounded Ardainne's sword arm.

So far, the two had done what he asked. And often mentored or at least looked after, Lucia and Blaise in their studies and letters. Ardainne had once, in front of Hern and with his permission, tried to pull the ring off, but had soon regretted it when the electricity had stopped running through her. And, up until her injury, proved to be rather proficient with the sword.

For Elsen, he and the other Companions had tried everything they could to get the Bosmer to hold something other than a table knife. But every time they tried, she shook so hard, she would nearly cut herself on accident. So they stuck with hand to hand combat, which the Companions were also proficient in. Her fear of weapons had proven to be impossible for her to deal with once the bandits began, as she would freeze up. Hern just hoped a healer more in tune with restoration, or a priest, could help her, as he didn't know how.

For now, though, it looked like danger was passed. Hern chalked it up to the Sixth Legion pulling out and the Tenth not yet here for the bandits' recent aggression. While they had fended off the bandits each time, Hern's group had taken losses. Two soldiers had been killed so far, ambushed in the first attack. And many more had been injured to one degree or another. And while Hern didn't always use it, he appreciated having gone to the College of Winterhold to learn many spells, healing in particular. Else several of the soldiers would have died or had to have had limbs removed. Hern was just glad they would stop in Whiterun for a short rest before continuing on. Hern sat down on the ground, and wasn't the only one.

Everyone was tired. It was a long journey, and the constant harassment by the bandits was not helping him.

"RAAAAAH!" Another group of bandits appeared from around the bend.

Hern jumped up in anger, having had it with these bandits. He signaled for the others to stay back. And waited for the bandits to get closer. When the bandits did, Hern let them know in a very public way who he was.

"YOL TOOR SHUL!"

Out of Hern's mouth erupted a wall of flame that quickly closed in on, and incinerated the poorly equipped bandits. None had time to even scream in pain.

Turning towards the group to let them know they could keep moving, he noticed uneasy eyes from his sister and childhood friend, as well as the Elves, who hadn't seen him use his Thu'um until now. Hern knew why. He had seen it on many other people's faces before. It was one thing to hear about the Thu'um, but another to actually witness it.

All Hern said to the group was, "Day's wasting. Keep moving." And they did. First to Whiterun, then Solitude, and to the unknown beyond.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6. A New Power.

 **West of the Iron Islands, Sunset Sea**

The wind was blowing the banner hard this early morning. One could see it fully unfurled, the sunlight just showing the Kraken reaching up from the depths to sink her foes. Yara Greyjoy had an inside tip that a merchant vessel was coming through these waters, one supposedly loaded with the finest wines, foods, gold, and other valuables. Just to be sure she could make off with everything, she had brought along two more longboats with hers.

Such was the life of the Ironborn and followers of the Drowned God. To raid, pillage, and plunder others so that the people of the Iron Isles could thrive. For the time being though, their activities were limited to merchant vessels and the like out at sea, rather than the mainland coastline. If the Ironborn, particularly those led by a Greyjoy, were found to have attacked a seaside village or port, they could expect to feel the wrath of the entire North shortly after, if not an alliance of Houses again.

But Yara was calm and patient. She hadn't earned her position for nothing. She was quite meticulous on who she targeted, and when. She had earned the respect of her men the hard way (though some, in another way), by getting the prizes and keeping her men alive.

The ship they were waiting for should come into view before long. And attacking at the crack of dawn when the guard would be sleepy, with all this fog, the sailors would never know what hit them. And right now, Yara had men from each boat keeping a lookout for the ship in question. Once they saw the outline, they would strike hard and fast. A clear advantage to the longboats of the Ironborn. _"It should not be long now before the target comes,"_ schemed Yara. She was ready.

All at once, the watchers gave the signal for sighting the ship. Looking in the direction they indicated, Yara did indeed see a ship. It looked a little different than what she was used to, but it would not be the first time it had happened.Yara gave the signal, and all three longboats set out to surround the ship on two sides.

Getting closer Yara noticed the ship had an odd banner. One that was a white background with a golden horse's head on the top, and what looked to be hills on the bottom. Yara quickly knew it was no Westrosi banner, and figured it belonged to some fool in Essos.

Getting closer, another odd thing stuck out. The ship was a lot larger than what she was used to. It must have been the size of some of the great ships built in the South! And then the unthinkable happened. Sailing alongside the ship were a couple of longboats!

"That's damned impossible! We're supposed to be the only ones that uses longboats!" Cried out one of Yara's sailors. It didn't matter to her. They still had the element of surprise, unless that fool kept his mouth running. But Yara failed to see a tall figure on the deck of the ship, naturally hid so that unless you knew that person was there, you would never see them.

When Yara got closer, she gave out the signal to charge full speed ahead! The longboats all picked up speed, ignoring the flag of truce being flown from the masts of all the ships. Such was the Ironborn Way. _"Only a little bit further",_ readied the Ironborn leader.

Just before they got close enough to take out the foe's longboats, Yara could have sword she heard a shout, before a large ball of fire struck one of the other longboats, lighting all on board aflame, the screams of those still living being drowned out by the roaring fire.

"Shit! Is that wyld fire!?" exclaimed another sailor.

"Oh by the Drowned God, another ball of fire!" cried out someone else.

And indeed there was, and it struck Yara's other ship, dooming those on it as well, their screams carrying over in the wind. She had just lost two thirds of her men and boats in seconds! Wild fire or not, she was about to order the men on her own boat to retreat until she heard something that should have been impossible.

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE! ELSE MEET THE SAME FATE AS THE OTHERS!"

The shout was so loud, she had to cover her ears, as did many others. And the only place it could have come from, was from the large ship! But with the wind blowing like it was, out on the open sea, that should have not been possible!

Yara's men looked to her for orders, panic barely being controlled. Though she herself was in a state of shock as well. But finally she gave the order, "Set anchor! Set anchor damn you! I will not have us roasted alive!" Almost immediately, the anchor was dropped to the side.

Yara had heard tales of wild fire, but this didn't quite add up to those. For one, wild fire did not start in the air as a fireball! And then, past the ship and her escorts, Yara's, and her crews' eyes grew wide. Coming out of the gloom behind this ship and longboats, looked to be an entire fleet of such ships and boats! Each carrying different banners, but one Yara had failed to notice. One banner that all the ships carried. For it not only represented the Empire they had come from, but the man they had chosen to follow. A banner of deepest black, with a diamond in the center. And on the diamond, if Yara had seen it, she would not have tried attacking and gone home to warn her father, was a dragon.

Yara and her remaining crew could only wait. They waited until two of the strange longboats pulled up beside hers and about half of each of their crews' sailors jumped aboard and disarmed Yara's men. Yara waited as these strangers tied up her men. And then Yara noticed something else. Nearly half of the strangers were women! Not some high lady used to soft comforts, but they looked a deal like her. Like warriors. Women used to fighting in the thick of battle. And the height on them had some of her men straining their necks to try and look at these strangers in the face.

Finally, two men came over to her, one had a bit of a rugged look to him, but also a certain air of nobility too, perhaps in his thirties. The other had a more haggard look, was older, and looked to be an experienced soldier. And both were light of hair.

The younger of the two pointed to her and asked, "You are the one in charge of these pirates, are you not?" Yara could hear the disgust on his voice when he said 'pirates'.

"I-I am the leader of these Ironborn." Yara was still in shock from what had happened to her other boats. Both now beneath the waves.

The older man spat on the deck of her boat, "Iron Born? Whatever. You pirates always try to disguise yourselves as something else to sneak up on good people."

It was clear that the younger man, who looked to be in his thirties, held a similar opinion, but held his temper better. "Peace, Galmar. He wants the ones on this boat left alive. For now."

Turning his attention back to Yara, "And _you_ he wishes to speak with himself. And words of advice, young lady, I would be honest with him. This voyage has had him on edge for a while."

"Who is 'he'? And who are you?" Yara wanted to know that much at least.

With a grim look, the man answered, "My name is Ulfric Stormcloak, leader of the Stormcloak Skirmishers. The man you are about to meet with, has many names and titles. But we all know him as Hern Hammerhand, Ysmir of the North."

For some reason, Yara could have sworn she heard thunder at the name Ulfric said.

 **Aboard the Jorrvaskr…**

Hern had seen the boats coming before the lookouts had. A nice little benefit of a simple spell he had learned, combined with an all too useful shout as well. And he had made sure the battle mage on board had aimed for the two boats without the distinctive banner.

Hern had learned long ago, that along unknown roads, the only ones waiting for you, were there to attack you. Bandits, necromancers, beasts, monsters, and even dremora had made that painfully clear. And those were just a few of the things he had come across on the roads. Here though, three boats filled with lightly armored men looking for an easy score? Yeah, he knew pirates when he saw them.

But he wanted the captain of the main boat, so that he could learn of where these pirates had come from. He hoped who ever this person was, they would be cooperative. Because over two months trapped on these blasted ships had been rather frustrating.

As it turned out, Serana had no stomach for the sea (which was odd as she had done well on the trip to Solstheim a few years back), Lucia and Blaise had what the sailors called, 'cabin fever', and everyone in general had grown restless. The granary ships, despite being behemoths, had proven invaluable with their food stores. Though the food had grown redundant after a while, no one had at least gone hungry.

But the most amazing thing about the fleet, was the sheer size. It had been estimated that around 10,000 people altogether had begun the journey. Soldiers, families, craftsmen, artisans, and Hern's own factions included. A massive undertaking to be sure, but one well worth it. Illness part way through had sadly claimed some lives, but the healers had been able to quickly fix it so that no one else died.

The ships ranged from the patrolling longboats under Ulfric and his troops, to the flagship, dubbed 'The Floating Fortress', a massive thing that even had a catapult at either end, with rotating ballistae. That was where Tullius was staying, along with Hern's sister and brother-in-law.

Hern though, preferred to be on the forward most ship, to be one of the first of Tamriel to see this 'Westeross'. _The Jorrvaskr_ , and indeed several other main ships had been dubbed to honor each of the various holds of Skyrim. Hern had chosen this one, as the Companions had been the first to welcome him in, and Jarl Balgruuf had been the first to give him a chance in Skyrim. So he felt he owed them that much.

Right now, Hern was waiting for Ulfric to bring up the leader of these pirates. Hern had plenty of past experience with the bandits of the sea, and normally would have just destroyed all three vessels. But they knew so little of the lands they were going to. And these pirates had obviously come from somewhere not too far off, hopefully. _Perhaps a region of Westeross? Let's hope so. Else I may have to end a life I just spared._ And Hern didn't really like entertaining such thoughts.

Finally, up the rope ladder a soldier had thrown over the side, came Ulfric followed by… A young woman that had a stance that seemed to command respect. _Great. This isn't going to end well._ Hern knew that this pirate wasn't going to be the average kind. Most were simply bandits on boats. Rough, violent, and dirty. This young woman, Hern could tell she was violent, and possibly rough, but she was too clean and too upright for the usual pirate.

"Ulfric, bring her into my cabin." Hern ordered. Ulfric obeyed, trusting the man to know what to do about the pirate in their custody.

When the trio entered, Hern noted there was still a wild look in the pirate's eyes. _Probably from the fire balls thrown at her ships._ Hern couldn't blame her. Not every day one sees a ball of fire encompass a boat almost out of nowhere.

Ulfric sat the woman down in a chair that Hern often used for those visiting. Not the best chair, but it was comfortable enough. Hern could see Ulfric still had reservations though. The man had started a Civil War, but even he had his own honor. And honor usually demanded the execution of bandits and pirates. And the last thing Hern needed was a potential information source accidentally killed.

"Ulfric, see that the other prisoners are looked after. If any try to escape, kill them. Otherwise, make sure they are secured." Ulfric grunted a little, but left. Not trusting the pirate captain.

Hern strode over to where he had a bottle of mead, Honningbrew Mead. His personal favorite. He poured two tankards of it, set one down in front of the pirate, and the other in front of his seat. Sitting down, he gestured for the woman to take a drink. She only stared at it.

"Look lass, if I wanted you dead, poison would be the last thing I would use, particularly for this. I could have had your throat slit when Ulfric and his men boarded your vessel. Or even simply burned it like the other two. But I do recommend the drink. It's a personal favorite."

Hern took a quick drink out of his mug. And after seeing that there were no ill effects, the woman took a drink from hers, eyes widening at the taste.

"I see you like it as well. It's quite famous back home. But alas, we are not here to talk of the simpler things in life. But of information," began Hern.

"I won't help you take over the Iron Isles!" Declared the woman defiantly.

Hern chuckled a little, not realizing he had sparked a little intimidation in the woman. "I have no desire to rule your 'Iron Isles'. I merely wish to know if it is a part of Westeross. And if, by chance, your name? Because I doubt you wish for everyone aboard to call you 'pirate' or 'savage'."

The woman stared at him for a moment, trying to match glare for unblinking and cool stare from Hern. Unfortunately for the woman, it took more than being a raider to intimidate him. Very few could.

She glanced down and spoke softly. "The Iron Isles are a part of the Kingdom of Westeross, my own father being the ruler of them. As for my name, it is Yara Greyjoy. The Kingdom itself is East of here."

Hern smiled, satisfied. "See? That's wasn't so difficult Yara."

The lack of titles to her name made Yara look back up, half angry and half confused.

"I don't put much stock into titles handed down for generations. Only if a person has actually earned the title of their station in my eyes, will I address them as such. And most here in the fleet would tell you that anyway," explained Hern.

"Who are you, my lord?" Yara had asked while feeling her composure come back.

Hern sighed. "Another bad habit of mine, I hate being addressed as such. Though I technically am a 'lord' of sorts I suppose. But you can call me Hern. In fact, I'd prefer it. Some call me Dovahkiin, but that's something else entirely."

"So you captured me only to ask such questions? And who sent you? And why do you not know where Westeross is?" Demanded Yara.

"My dear Yara." The tone Hern used made her flinch. Cold and condescending. "You make demands of us? Your men could be executed with a word. You would be treated as scum, if left alive. And my people would gladly do it. They do not particularly care for raiders or pirates. But, as a gesture of good will, I shall answer your questions."

Hern heard her let out a breath she herself may not have known she held.

Hern made himself comfortable on his chair. "I captured you, because Westeross to my people is almost nothing but a mystery. Only tiny bits and pieces here and there even exist. And when we get closer to Westeross, I shall ask a very important question, but not sooner. As for the last two questions, they tie in quite well together. The first part, I was sent by my country to act as an ambassador to establish relations with whoever is in charge. As for why we do not know, that is because the land we came from is far to the West of here. A land known as Tamriel. "

"Never heard of it," Yara muttered.

"I'm not surprised. Most where I come from have never heard of Westeross either. Those that have, most believe it to be legend, while some that believe to be real, set out to find it. Never to return."

Hern could tell she was still quite tense, despite the occasional sip of the mead.

"Oh relax. As my men said, no harm shall come to you and yours so long as you behave. You, I was on the fence about until you decided to be cooperative, admittedly. You have my word that no harm shall befall you. So long as you or your men do not attack my people." Hern wanted this to be clear as possible. It just made the woman more confused.

"Y-you wouldn't let your forces have their way with me?" Yara was feeling stunned.

Hern was rather taken aback. "I don't know how things are in Westeross, but such things are punishable by death here. The Imperial Legions of Tamriel are known for their professionalism. If any soldier commits the crime of rape, they are first castrated, and then they are hung. And if it makes you feel better, I could have women guards on you at all times. But guarded you will be nonetheless."

Yara finally seemed to relax. As much as a prisoner could. And it was all that Hern needed. Hern disliked having to 'convince' people to talk the hard way. So he was satisfied that the woman would be cooperative, at least for the time being.

"You may finish your drink. But then I shall have a guard escort you to a room for the time being," concluded Hern. He still had much to do, but this voyage was finally drawing to a close. Months at sea, nothing to go by but the sun's rising and setting, as the stars had gradually changed as their voyage progressed. Hern had been inquiring with several people he knew if they could try and develop a device that could judge North, South, East, and West at nearly all times. Some were working on it. But it was hard to say how long it would be.

Lost in thought, as he was want to do, Hern had failed to realize a different expression on Yara's face. One speaking that she would try and take advantage of what she assumed was someone she could seduce and take advantage of. Yara quietly got up from her seat and loosened her shirt. Getting to Hern, who was staring off at the ceiling, she put hand on his shoulder, which immediately brought Hern out of his daze.

Hern saw what she was trying to do, and sighed. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Yara stopped, surprised he was simply rejecting her as such. "But why? Surely someone of your status-"

That's when Yara's hand was grabbed by another, in a vice like grip, from behind. That's when she felt the hand not only pull hers away from Hern, but began lifting her up, and up. Until she found her feet were just off the floor.

Turning in the air from the way she had been grabbed, Yara found herself face to face with a beautiful and tall woman, with pale skin, dark hair, and, if she was not mistaken, yellow eyes. Even more, it seemed if the woman wasn't even trying by holding her up!

Hern got up from his seat to stand just slightly behind the woman. "Yara, meet my wife and personal bodyguard, Serana. Serana, meet Yara. She says she is a Lord's daughter."

Serana gave Hern a slightly annoyed look. "Yeah, I know. I heard everything. And saw too. You really need to fix that bad habit of yours, of losing yourself in thought."

Hern gave a sheepish grin. "That I do. Which is why I'm glad to have you watching my back."

Yara had been trying to wiggle her wrist out of the grip, but found it quite impossible. In fact, it seemed as if the hand on her wrist was slowly getting tighter.

"Now Serana. I don't think either of us want harm to come to our guest. I belief she may have learned her lesson. Now if you don't mind, I'll be back in a moment with her guard and escort." Hern excused himself from the room, leaving Serana and Yara alone.

Serana watched Hern leave through the door, and turned her attentions back to Yara, her eyes cold as ice. "Listen here harlot. Be thankful my husband chose to spare you. But do not take his kindness for granted. Else you will be far more cooperative than you may wish." Serana smiled, and Yara saw two rather large and sharp fangs, and a bloodlust in the woman's eyes. Yara suddenly felt more afraid than when she had when the fire had consumed two of her boats.

"B-by the D-drowned God! What the hell are you?" Yara could barely form the sentences.

"If you behave, someone that you won't have to worry about. If you don't, well, let's just say there are worse things than death," threatened Serana, still flaunting her fangs.

Yara somehow believed her.

"So, will you behave?" Serana's voice carried plenty of hostility in it.

Yara nodded, finding it harder to speak, as if some unseen force were choking her.

"Good." Serana dropped Yara, who fell to her knees. Shaking slightly.

Serana shook her head at the sight. She had figured this woman to be stronger, leading a decent sized host of men. And she had been the only woman amongst them, which seemed strange.

"Oh calm down girl. So long as you behave, my husband will remain true to his word. But I will not have any more of trying _that_ , are we clear?"

Yara nodded again.

"Good, now get up. Hern should be back soon with your escort," advised Serana.

Sure enough, a few moments later Hern came back in, followed by a middle-aged woman in lamellar armor, with a sword that was sharpened only on one side, with a curve along it. Hern introduced her as Delphine, Captain of the Guard.

Yara found the woman to be as strict as any veteran soldier, and carried herself as such. But could hear her grumble about, "having to play babysitter to a worthless pirate". Yara wisely decided not to cross the woman if she could help it. The room Yara was brought to was, although not very large, was at least comfortable. Meanwhile, Delphine would guard the door and switch with another every so often.

Yara sat on the bed in the room, wondering what these people were going to do. So far the man called Hern had made good on his word. But the amount of ships she had seem along with the size of some of them still stuck out in her mind. And if the ship she was currently on was any indication, each of those ships carried a considerable amount of people and soldiers.

"Whoever these people are, they came prepared for something," muttered Yara.

Back in Hern's cabin, Hern and Serana were discussing their new 'guest'.

"You really like sneaking up on people, don't you?" half teased Hern, relaxing on their bed.

"I only had to because you, once again, let your thoughts trail elsewhere. What would you have done if I were not in here already?" scolded Serana.

"Okay, you're right my dear. I cannot deny that. And honestly, I would have done something very similar. Though I doubt it would have been so, subtle," responded Hern with a chuckle.

"Subtle? She would have been screaming her head off! The last thing we need is some Lord's daughter dying of fright, after she was being so. Honest. Did you give her any of that?" Serana had started off laughing but came to a realization.

"The last of it. I wanted to be sure. And yes, I used it on myself as well. Though from now on, we'll have to be far more discreet," cautioned Hern.

"I thought it had a foul taste to it?" Questioned Serana.

"Part of that was from the health potion. The rest can easily be covered up with something that has a strong taste to it. Like my favorite mead," smirked Hern.

Serana rolled her eyes as Hern pulled out a book to read for the time being.

Over the next week, Hern had done as he had said. Yara, and what men of hers remained (most now split up amongst the ships) had remained unharmed, and she had been brought to Hern and Serana so they could question her on Westeross. Most of it was fairly common knowledge, though she supposed if they really were from some far away land, it made sense. But one day, a question came up that took her by surprise.

"Yara. Is there any affiliation between 'The North' and 'The Wolf'?" Hern had asked while on deck, Serana nearby as always. They had decided to have today's meeting outside to enjoy the fresh air. Though, Yara noticed that Serana always wore a hood when outside. _Maybe she has sensitive eyes?_ She thought to herself. And Serana had proven to be a decent host, once it was made perfectly clear Yara would make no more moves on Hern. That memory of Serana effortlessly holding her up stuck out in her mind.

But the question was quite surprising, almost painfully so. "Yes," muttered Yara. "The Dire Wolf is the sigil for House Stark, the Wardens of the North."

Hern eyed her, but decided it was not the time to ask on what was bothering her, but he had other things to ask. "The Starks? And 'Wardens of the North'? I take it they are an important family."

Yara nodded. "They are. They have ruled the North, in some capacity, for thousands of years, I think."

It was Hern's turn to be surprised. A single House had ruled over an area for so long was nearly unheard of. The only exception he could think of had been the Tribunal of Morrowind, but they had been immortals. If nothing else, Hern was intrigued by the House's history, for it to have survived so long.

"What sort of relationship do they have with King, Robert was it? Yes, King Robert in King's Landing?" Inquired Hern. It had been one of the first things he had asked the woman. Who was the ruler, where the capital was, all the obvious questions about Westeross.

Yara's face went blank. "They are constantly at odds with each other. Always squabbling over the North."

Hern grunted, startling Yara. "Don't lie to me. Far better than you have tried and failed in the past. I advise you to be honest."

Serana and Delphine nodded in agreement.

Yara hesitated for a moment. While Hern had granted her privileges that most prisoners would never dream of, he still made it clear when she tried to overstep those privileges that she was, indeed a prisoner. "They are… They are closely allied. Lord Eddard Stark is considered to be a strong friend and supporter of King Robert Baratheon."

Hern gave her an inquisitive look. "Truly? That may make things easier than."

But Yara hadn't finished. "And after my father tried to start a rebellion several years ago, the Starks took my only remaining brother as a ward. The others all died during the fighting."

Hern, while he felt a slight pang of sympathy for her sibling being made a political prisoner, didn't feel too sorry. Anyone that not only condones, but encourages piracy was not someone he felt much sympathy for. He did have some surprise that her father had been allowed to live, let alone keep his House. Not even Ulfric had been that lucky, but Ulfric tolerated piracy as much as Hern did. Not to mention Ulfric was fairly reasonable in most situations.

But a House and even culture, built on piracy and taking pride in it? For peace's sake, Hern would not start anything leading to a direct confrontation. But should a more direct attack happen, Hern only promised he would not start any fighting. Finishing however…

"Honestly Yara, be grateful you even have a House or family left. The person who led a rebellion where we came from a few years ago lost all claims to nobility and became an exile," commented Serana. She herself knew what it was like to lose one's House and family, in more ways than one. What Serana did not say was that the person who led that rebellion was the one to escort Yara to Hern that day.

Though Yara was there mainly to tell Hern about Westeross, he and Serana had been open fairly about their own people. She had learned, for example, that the soldiers spread throughout the fleet were professional ones. Like House Guards. Not merely levies or mercenaries. And she had seen the discipline herself in the daily training exercises. She was secretly glad that her attack had failed before it began, else she and her crew would have surely perished to the last.

"And thanks to the charts on your ship, these Iron Islands should be coming into view before long," said a satisfied Hern.

That made Yara cringe though. The people that had boarded her boat, after taking all of them prisoner, and gone through everything for anything that could prove useful. One of the most useful, had been the maps and charts she used during her raids. Even her own boat was currently being towed behind a ship nearby, a ship much like the _Jorrvaskr_ she was currently sailing in.

Yara was dreading what her father would do to her after failing so spectacularly. Losing two longboats full of men, and her own captured. She already felt the shame. And her father was not the most forgiving of people. Far from it. He even carried a grudge against Theon, despite Theon being a prisoner ever since Balon's failed rebellion. Yara though, missed Theon. He was her only living brother.

Hern though, despite the company, was watching the distance. Eager to see these 'Iron Islands' that Yara hailed from. He had traveled all over Skyrim, Solstheim, Cyrodiil, and even to Sovengarde and realms of Oblivion. But here, here were new lands that had never been explored by a Tamriel citizen.

And finally, after months at sea, Hern could see land in the distance. As did the lookout in the crow's nest.

"LAAAAND HOOOO!"

Similar cries began rising up from ship after ship in the enormous fleet.

"You know Hern, I thought of something," began Serana.

"Oh? How to get over sea sickness?" Teased Hern.

"No you oaf. Think about it. We're leading an enormous fleet from clear across the sea. We're heading towards a fairly large country that could have a fairly large military. It may be, prudent, if we sail closer with only one or two ships to appear non-threatening," advised Serana.

Hern admitted, she had a point. Although most on the ships were already stir crazy, the last thing he wanted was for an all-out war because Balon decided he felt threatened by a huge fleet of ships.

"Very well. _The_ _Jorrvaskr_ shall continue her course. The rest of the fleet should anchor close enough to aid if needed, but far away enough that Balon knows we aren't being aggressive with everything we have," commanded Hern.

The crewmen saluted, and then rushed off to relay the orders.

 **The Pyke**

Lord Balon Greyjoy, the Lord Reaper of the Pyke, and Head of his House was quite clearly agitated. His daughter Yara had gone out over a week ago to intercept what was supposed to have been a large haul. But he had heard nothing since. And it was unlike her to take so long. She had taken three longboats of some of the best raiders they had. But no word.

Turning to one of his servants, Balon gave his orders, "Go back down to the docks and see if there is any news of Yara!"

The servant tried protesting, "But we've been down to the docks three times already my Lord! And three runners are standing by down there as it is!"

"I don't CARE! Go down and-" Before Balon could finish, the doors to his Hall slammed open, with one of the runners there breathing heavily.

"My Lord Greyjoy! Ships! A giant fleet of ships have been spotted! And one of them is heading this way!"

Balon was an ambitious man, but had reigned them in after his failed rebellion years earlier. He had not given any House cause to attack him. So who could it be? "Whose banners are they flying under, boy?" Balon demanded.

"Two of them on the ship coming here! One has a horse's head on it, while the other is black with a diamond shape, holding a-a-a…" The boy's voice trailed off.

"Holding a what? Speak boy!" Shouted an enraged Balon.

"A dragon." The runner whispered.

 _"By the Drowned God, have the Targaryens returned!? I thought they all perished years ago!"_ Balon was close to panic now. If it was the Targaryens, and leading a fleet of ships, this could be bad.

Balon, along with those in court with him, ran out to see the ships. And see them they did. A fleet of what might have been nearly a hundred vessels, including longboats, were all anchored off some ways from shore. While a lone ship, large enough on its own, was sailing towards them with a pair of longboats acting as escort. Balon looked closely at those, and found they were not of the Iron Born. And then he saw the banners. Indeed, they were as the boy described, but the dragon one had a single dragon, not three. Which made Balon breathe a sigh of relief. Balon saw the flag of truce, but ignored it.

And then his breath caught again. _"Who the hell are these people!?"_ Balon, like most of the Major Houses of Westeross, knew most House banners by heart. But these he had never seen before.

"My Lord? What should we do?" Asked one of the attendants, worry apparent on his voice.

"A foreign vessel at the head of a fleet like that? Flag of truce or no, they are here to invade, and to intimidate us! Roust the men for battle!" Shouted Balon. He would not give up his seat so easily.

 **The Jorrvaskr**

"Well shit."

That was the consensus of everyone on board when they saw at least a dozen longboats make their way towards the ship, with more in dock, loading up. Even Yara had the same reaction. While she knew the raiders were good fighters, they didn't know about the fire. It was something that her wardens had not elaborated on. And the soldiers themselves were a professional force, and most of them veterans.

Hern noted the concern on Yara's face, and knew it was not for him or his ship. "If your father surrenders, we'll spare him. Same goes for any others that surrender. If they do not, well, I'm sure you've heard how we deal with pirates." Yara simply kept on staring at the oncoming longboats.

"Raise the signal Captain! Bring the other ships in. It seems Yara's father wishes to fight us," commanded Hern.

The Captain nodded and gave the signal. Almost at once, the ships that had anchored were raising anchor and making way to join _The Jorrvaskr_ , Ulfric's Longboats speeding on ahead.

Yara watched Hern go towards the very front of the ship, and waved the person there back. Yara's guard came up behind her, and in a serious tone, "You're going to witness something now. For those pirate friends of yours, I'd suggest praying to whatever Gods you worship, because they won't survive."

Yara got close to the edge of the ship, and saw some of the raiders fire off some arrows at the ship, hoping to clear it a little before boarding. That's when she heard a noise that nearly shattered her eardrums, as it sounded like thunder!

"FUS ROH DAH!"

Yara saw something come from Hern's mouth, that grew quickly. She could see through it, but something about it told her it was far from harmless. And indeed, she was proven correct when the first longboat was hit directly by it. And to her horror, the ship was shattered and splintered, and men were torn to pieces by the blast and the wood!

An officer on deck, leading a squad of archers lined up, half to one side of Hern, the other half on his other side.

"Archers, nock!" Commanded the officer, which was followed the men knocking their bows.

"Archers, aim!" The two sides of archers took aim at the longboats still coming.

"Loose!" As one, the bowstrings snapped and let fly their arrows, tearing into the raiders. Not all arrows were lethal, but all found home in flesh. The screams of the men were heard on deck, but the crew was far from done. Yara could see more soldiers emerge from below deck, armed with bows, swords, and axes.

"Archers, open fire!" Commanded the officer.

The archers let loose on the raiders. Not as accurate, but the arrows fell faster.

Yara watched as the raiders were falling before they ever got a chance to get close enough to board. The boats that did get close enough, were shattered by Hern's power. But the number of longboats from the Pyke were increasing, and just when Yara thought the men of the Pyke would overrun _The Jorrvaskr_ , something different happened.

One moment the tide of longboats were nearly ready to board the ship, some engaged with Hern's own longboats, the next, half of the Pyke's longboats were on fire!

"What the fuck happened!? What happened!?" Yara screamed in a mix of rage and confusion.

That's when she noticed Hern was breathing rather hard, some sweat dripping from his forehead. And Yara knew he somehow had something to do with it. She didn't know how, but she knew he did something. And whatever it was, hit a primal fear of hers. One that said that if she opposed this man on the field, her life would be forfeit.

"What happened there, Yara," began Delphine in a knowing tone, "was Hern giving a small demonstration of what he can do. Truth be told, he could probably destroy all those boats himself, but he's letting his troops release tension on those we all believe to be scum."

The words struck Yara rather harder than she thought. She knew many on the mainland did not exactly care for the Iron Born's way of life, but to hear it so bluntly. "It is our way of life," Yara tried to retort.

"A life of banditry on the sea is no life. And since your father made it clear in his hostilities, it shall be the first thing Hern changes," stated Delphine.

"But-" Yara tried to say.

But Delphine intervened, "No. Things change for a reason. And wherever Hern goes, things can change drastically. Even on these islands, there will be potential for change for a better way than pirating."

The battle raged still, some of the raiders making it to the ship, exhausted from navigating through so many of their fellows' remains and smashed ships. Only to be met by Legionnaires and Blades, who swiftly cut them down, none of the Raiders surrendering.

Then the reinforcement ships showed up. First several longboats engaged in battle with Pyke longboats, and then several military vessels, the fronts of them reinforced by iron and steel rams, smashed through several longboats, heading straight towards shore.

The raiders of the Pyke were quickly overwhelmed, and some of the survivors surrendered. Others tried to fight on, but were quickly cut down by the better armed and trained Legion troops and Blades. While Ulfric's men, longtime veterans of the Civil War and Thalmor Ambushes, hacked down Raiders left and right with a primal brutality fitting of the Nords. Going from longboat to longboat.

After clearing up the remnants, _The Jorrvaskr_ made sail towards the Pyke, dozens of ships close behind.

 **Several hours later…**

The Battle of Pyke had turned into more of a slaughter. The Raiders that were so infamous for hitting hard, fast, and getting out before trouble could come, were overwhelmed by the professional soldiers of the Sixth Legion and Blades. Yara noted that there were other groups amongst them as well. But the thing that most surprised her, was that despite the battle being over, and the Raiders nearly wiped out, not one of Hern's forces went on pillaging and plundering that was so common amongst the Westrossi. In fact, damage to houses and shops were negligible, other than the ones Raiders had tried to use as ambush points.

And right now, Yara was staring at her father and his guardsmen in chains, not believing what was happening.

"Lord Balon Greyjoy. You are charged with the crimes of piracy, aggression towards an Imperial Ambassador, inciting violence towards a neutral country, and attacking ships with the flag of truce flying. How do you plead?" Asked Legate Rikke.

"You invaders! We Ironborn will never bow to you! When the King hears of this!" Balon had been angrily shouting for some time.

Yara, although in every sense a prisoner herself, was merely being escorted by Delphine and another Blade. Her father, and those still left alive of the Raiders, were in chains. The civilians were ordered to stay in their homes for the time being, while the Legion troops cleared out anymore pirates.

Tullius had enough of Balon though. "When your king hears of how you attacked us unprovoked, he'll probably thank us for being so merciful, if he even cares about the Pyke. You're lucky we're not here for war, else I would just have you hung, Balon. But for the time being, you are going to the dungeons, while we finish taking control over the Pyke and sending messages out by your ravens to see what we should do with you."

"They'll gather armies in the tens of thousands to drive you back, invader! We'll ha-" Balon was cut short.

WHAM!

Legate Fasendil, a towering Altmer, knocking Balon out with a punch. "Bastard's been shouting since we took him into custody. Been getting on my nerves."

The docks of the Pyke were filled with the ships and longboats of the Imperial Fleet. Dozens of them. More anchored a short way out into sea. But in the Pyke Castle, Hern was meeting with a person known as a 'maester', in order to send a message first to the North, by recommendation of the maester himself.

"So this 'Stark', you say he is a sensible person?" Asked Hern.

The Maester was a little nervous, considering the Pyke had been conquered in just a few hours by this man and his forces, but the civility of them had been a pleasant surprise.

"Yes, my Lord. He's a good man. And if you make things known to him about what transpired here, he can clear things up with King Robert," explained the Maester.

"Please, none of the 'My Lord' stuff. But tell me, why shouldn't I go with your King first? Surely that would be most sensible," asked Hern.

"The King is, well, not the most even tempered person. If you can get Lord Stark to vouch for you, it will carry great weight with the King."

"Very well. I'll be bringing you a letter shortly to see if I can speak with Stark as soon as possible. The last thing I wish to happen is to be seen as an invading force. But as you know, Balon forced our hand," muttered Hern grimly.

"Of course. Balon has ever been one of the more aggressive Lords of the Pyke. He even reinstated the policy of raiding again."

Hern thanked the Maester for showing him the raven's roost. And the two went back down the tower, locking the door behind them.

Hern knew by taking the Pyke, even if attacked first, he was treading dangerous waters. If he could convince Stark of his position, and if he carried as much weight with the king as what he had been told, then Hern could avoid an all-out war. For now, it was time to rest. As none knew what the next day would bring.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7. Negotiations.

"Lord Stark! Lord Stark! Urgent news!"

Lord Eddark Stark, Head of House Stark, Warden of the North, had just been finishing up listening to petitioners for the day when Maester Luwin had been searching for him desperately.

Ned Stark had to admit the way the Maester is acting, had him on edge, "Maester Luwin, what is it?"

Catching his breath, the Maester could only hand the letter he had received and told him the barest of information. "My Lord, The Pyke has been captured! The letter explains it!"

Now distressed Ned began reading the letter, and went through a wide range of emotions as he did so.

 _To Eddard Stark,_

 _This news may sound rather distressing, and if I were in your shoes, it probably would be for a few reasons. First of all, I will just come out and admit that I and my forces did conquer the Pyke. And though it may not sound like it, it had never been my original intention. But my people and I cannot and will not condone pirating nor being attacked without reason. We only put an end to this as Balon Greyjoy and his men thought it would be a clever idea attacking ships sailing under the flag of truce. Currently, Balon, his bodyguard, and what remains of his forces are currently in prison while his daughter Yara, is also a prisoner but has been far more cooperative and has a measure of freedom._

 _If you are worried for the safety of the Greyjoy's, I have opted to withhold judgement from them until I heard from you, as you seem to have a reputation here amongst those that believe in 'The Old God' here. But I assure you, no harm has befallen them. I must warn you, that my people and I have very low tolerance for what Balon condoned here. Many, including myself, want justice done to him._

 _As for who I am, I am known by many names and titles, but to keep it simply, my name is Hern and I was chosen by my government some months back, to be an Ambassador to Westeros from my own home known as The Tamrielic Empire, a place far to the West of even the Pyke. I would implore that you and I meet, and it can be on your terms, barring allowing at least a handful of my own as guards. Else my wonderful wife would have my head._

 _The last thing I wanted when coming here Stark, was to be viewed as a conqueror, which is why I have suspended the sentences of Balon Greyjoy until I hear from you. I do not wish for war, but to treat with one of the few people I have heard good things about since coming to these islands. And before you send anything to your King, I want to discuss this current situation. War is not my objective, and it never was. I await your reply._

 _Ambassador Hern Hammerhand,_

 _Tamrielic Empire._

Ned Stark set the letter down on a table, trying to process what he just read. _"A never before heard of land, with a people that can conquer the Pyke? But they let us know about it and this leader of theirs is willing to meet on my terms? Just who are these people!?"_

Turning to Lewin, voice deadly serious, Eddard asked, "Maester Lewin, how many others know of this letter?"

"Only you and I my Lord. Regarding the circumstances, I think it best we withhold from telling young Theon, lest he act, irrationally," advised Maester Lewin.

"I agree. And for now, don't tell anyone else. The last thing we want is for panic to ensue. I will come to you shortly with a reply to send to this person. He at least seems like he's willing to talk, on our terms no less," muttered Ned.

"As you wish. Though about sending word to King Robert?" Asked the Maester cautiously.

"As much as I think of him as a brother, I think it best we hold from telling him as the letter says until we sort this matter out. Robert has always been, _rash_ ," responded Ned. He remembered, all too well, at the end of Robert's Rebellion, his longtime friend's reaction to the deaths of the Targaryen children. That was an image that was burned into Ned's memory.

"As you say, Lord Stark. I will go back and see if anymore letters come in," Maester Lewin said, as bowed and left.

Ned went to his chambers, trying to hide his worry. Looking over the letter again and again, a few things stuck out to him. The first being the decided lack of titles, even his own, as this Hern person seems to only mention his being an ambassador as a chore, then something of prestige. Another was that it was far blunter than what most nobles would write. The man admitted to conquering the Pyke, but only because Balon attacked him. Ned found it hard to discredit that, as it hadn't been that long ago that Balon had tried his own rebellion, but it had been put down by himself an Robert.

What's more, was the mention of pirating. Ned had unconfirmed reports of something similar happening, but hadn't had more than rumors to go on. If true, then that means this Hern put an end to Balon's pirating. Which brought up another point. To have ousted Greyjoy and all of his supporters meant that Hern had a fair number of forces at his command, as well as plenty of ships too.

Mulling over his decision, Ned began writing the letter to agree to meeting with him.

 **Kings Landing**

Petyr Baelish was in his office, mulling over reports on the outside, but fuming on the inside. The reason being, is that several days before he lost all contact with his informants at The Pyke. It wasn't just that he had lost one of his informants, as another would have told him. It was that, out of the blue, everyone had gone silent. He had sent inquiries, but those too, were met with silence. No letters or coded messages. Nothing.

It was agonizingly frustrating for Petyr. He had gotten to his station by knowing everything about everyone, or as close to it as possible. He had prided himself on his informant network. But with this, whatever was happening in the Pyke, was not good. Petyr's only consolation, to a degree, was that his chief rival, Varys, was in the same boat.

Still, it was not an ideal situation. He had to keep himself composed about this, though it was troubling that neither him nor Varys had heard anything from the Iron Islands. There had been some reports that Balon was getting back into funding raiders, but nothing had been reported from the seaside villages and towns. Perhaps he was building up his fleets for one big strike all along the coast?

Either way, Petyr Baelish was going to try and turn this to his advantage before revealing anything. The only question, was how.

 **The Pyke**

Elsen had been dragged around the world on a whirlwind adventure. To most people, that would be a great metaphor. But for her, it was quite true. All of it due to the man whom she had pledged her allegiance to, the Dragonborn of all people. After getting over the initial shock, she found the man and his entourage to be decent, if odd, company. Though finding out that an Altmer had become a sort of ambassador/de facto political prisoner sent by the Thalmor had made her stomach churn. Hern had told Elsen that there were safeguards on the seemingly friendly Thalmor agent, but it didn't mean Elsen had to like it.

But now, after months at sea, they had finally come to this 'Westeros' place and had taken down a large band of pirates. Who just so happened to be supported and funded by the ruling family in the area. Her liege was keeping the two family members alive, as well as the household guard, but many of the pirates had been killed in the initial battle and lockdown of the islands.

Right now, Elsen was keeping an eye on some kids of soldiers of Skyrim, who were sparring against each other with dull knives. Elsen wasn't sure about such harsh training, but their parents had insisted upon it. Their justification was that children should be their own last line of defense, which made sense to Elsen, though she still wasn't thrilled.

As for Elsen's own training without weapons, it would go well enough, until a weapon was brought in by Lydia. She would freeze at the sight, and begin panicking. If not for Lydia's patience, Elsen doubted she would have gotten this far. Some memories were harder to suppress or get over than others.

As for The Pyke, it was, well, a dreary place. Run down villages and towns, markets with little activity… It was like the people here didn't even try and decided to become pirates. The soldiers of the Sixth Legion were keeping the peace, patrolling the roads and towns, and repairing the few damaged buildings that had been hit during the initial battle. And Hern had ordered The Pyke shut down to all outside communication other than his own with a 'Lord Stark'.

Elsen noticed that the children were done for now, and headed into the lodge that they were renting. It had been Hern's insistence that no one takes anything, and only pay for services. A few fools had tried to take advantage early on, not listening. Deciding they could steal from a local family. They were each given fifty lashes the next day and the family compensated.

That's when Elsen, before going back in, noticed a cowled figure. A person whom Hern had introduced to her shortly after coming to Solitude before shipping out. This person was a little taller than her, but the ash-colored skin showing on the wrists between the sleeves and gloves gave it away who it was.

"Hello Elsen. We've found another, in case _he_ wanted to know," said the figure.

Elsen gave a small, yet satisfied smile. This work she could deal with. All it required was a fair amount of stealth, good reflexes, and a quick tongue. Which thanks to Lydia's training and her own before meeting Hern, were fair enough. "He wanted me to look into these and confirm before going to him."

The figure nodded, and led the way down the road, to a non-descript cabin that had been abandoned before the person Elsen was following had found it. Since then, it had been used as a meeting place.

The figure knocked, and after a minute, they were let in by another cowled figure by the door, and the first figure took off her hood to reveal Karliah the Dunmer. The Dark Elf was a bit of an oddity amongst her people, as instead of the usual red eyes, she had violet ones.

"This way," Karliah indicated towards a backroom.

When they entered, Elsen hadn't quite expected this. On one side of the room, bound and gagged, was what looked to be a young street urchin. A boy no older than ten or so, and restrained. On the other side of the room, also bound and gagged, was a half-naked woman covered with a blanket.

Elsen turned to Karliah, "A boy and, what, a whore? Are you sure?"

Karliah responded in a matter fact voice, "Yes. Though we think they're working for two different people. They seemed surprised to see each other."

Elsen nodded. Being the liaison for Hern and these people was alright, if somewhat shady. Mainly because these people may rough someone up, but killing was not their forte. And Hern had set them to rooting out any potential spies and informants. As for what to do with them, Hern left that up to Elsen and Karliah, as he had enough on his plate as it was.

"Do we know who though?" questioned Elsen.

"The boy mentioned something about a 'spider' while the whore looked almost too afraid to talk. Almost." Responded Karliah. An almost sadistic grin on her face.

Elsen couldn't help but smile herself, shortly after meeting Karliah, Elsen learned she was as far from sadistic as a person could be. But Karliah was a very good actor.

"We'll just have to make sure we get what we want out of them, like we did the others. Some mice and some figs to start with." Elsen left it vague, as a person's mind who may be on the receiving end of what may be torture, could conjure up something far more inventive than what she could. A little trick she had learned from a three-hundred-year old vampire girl. That, had been an experience, if nothing else.

Almost immediately the two Thieves could see people's eyes grow wide, and their struggles more frantic. The panic abundant and clear.

The two Mer turned away for a while, making as if they were discussing what to do, letting Elsen's words sink in to the two hostages. After a few minutes, Karliah actually spoke, in the sadistic tone with a touch of Thalmor in it.

"Perhaps, they may be of some use to us? It would be a shame to just dispose of them once we get what we wanted."

The two prisoners stopped struggling so much, eyes still wide, but now hearing an offer of hope.

"I don't know. It's not like anyone would miss them," Elsen threatened.

Karliah pretended to have an idea, "Perhaps, they may be, compliant?"

The two prisoners stopped moving, keeping their eyes fixed firmly on the two Mer. _"Gotcha!"_ Thought Elsen. She may not be able to wield a weapon, but this sort of thing worked well enough for her. It was a way to pay back the Dragonborn for giving her a second chance.

 **The King's Road several days later…**

Hern was once again, on a long winding road, riding North towards this 'Winterfell' place this time. After exchanging several letters with Stark, it had been decided to meet the man at his home. One thing Hern hadn't realized until after sending his agreement back was that Winterfell was in the dead center of The North. Which meant a long ride.

With Hern, was of course, Serana who always had to keep an eye on him, their kids whom he hadn't spent as much time with as he had wanted since taking The Pyke, several of the Blades, Legate Fasendil with a few Legionnaires, and a couple of 'servants' as precautionary. Even bringing Ardainne along, whom Fasendil claimed to have heard about and substantiated her story, and wished to speak with her. Turns out they hit it off pretty well. Hern wasn't going to complain, Fasendil was a good man, er, Altmer, and had no love at all for the Thalmor himself. All in all, they numbered twenty. A small party, but that's what this Eddard Stark had let him have. Another condition was that they bring Yara Greyjoy along, to see that she was okay. Simple enough, so long as a guard kept an eye on her. Even Colette Marence had joined them. Something about making sure no one cut themselves had been her reason.

So far, the journey had been relatively quiet, and the wildlife was decidedly less aggressive than anything in Skyrim or Tamriel as a whole had. Wolves watched, but fled if any came close, no sabretooth cats, skeevers, and thankfully no random dremora. The scenery and climate reminded Hern much of Skyrim, though with a distinct lack mountains and the occasional dragon off in the distance. Just rolling hills, beautiful scenery, the occasional babbling brook or stream, and friendly wildlife.

Hern had never been so bored on a journey before. Even the sea had tried throwing up the occasional storm, though a shout every so often kept it from getting out of control. This though… Hern never thought he'd say it, but he almost wished for some bandits or a giant to pop up in front of them, if only to liven things up. When he had told Serana this, she laughed, then popped him in the arm for wanting unneeded danger.

The trip from where they docked the ship to Winterfell was long and tedious, and it slowly grew colder the further North they went. But for people who had spent years, if not longer, in Skyrim, it was still pleasantly warm in comparison.

Since coming to Westeros, many things had been surprising to the denizens of Tamriel. One of the biggest, was that there were no Mer or Beast folk. Only humans. Which meant that the non-humans on The Pyke earned plenty of stares from the natives. Even many of the Nords earned looks, if only for their average height compared to the other races, with only Altmer being taller. The Bretons and Imperials had blended in well enough, while the Redguards took only the occasional glance.

Another surprise had been the severe lack of magic in the land. The Mages did well enough, being trained for years to grow their own pools of magicka, but others who only dabbled in it, had trouble. As if it were being absorbed. Hern remembered the vision of the Wall, and how it had been made, but was still left unsure if that could be the cause. His shouts though, worked just fine. The Pyke had shown as much.

For several days the company traveled the King's Road, stopping at night to rest. One of those nights, they were camped to the side of the road, watching the fire, and just relaxing after a long day in the saddle. One of the soldiers, who had studied at the Bard's College, was playing a flute for entertainment, when they heard a sound that seemed eerily familiar.

"AROOOOOOOO!"

The howl was far too deep for any regular wolf, Skyrim or Westeros. It sounded too familiar in that Serana instinctively slapped Hern in the chest with the back of her hand.

"Ow!" Reacted Hern, but in a whispered voice, "that wasn't me or any of the others," he told his wife. Even though a few knew the true nature of the Companion's Circle, it was still closely guarded outside of the group.

The others were all in one state or another of readiness, with swords or other weapons at the ready. They had all braved Skyrim's wilds at one point or another, often many times. It had actually been more surprising that this hadn't happened earlier.

Serana and Hern, with their better senses, tried to find the source of the howl. But whatever it was, it seemed to have moved on. Though from that point on, they would have two sentries at night, just in case.

When the company finally got within view of Winterfell, they were all thoroughly impressed by the large stone structure. Simple, yet formidable. Both aspects which were greatly appreciated by the group from Skyrim.

 **Winterfell.**

"They're here!"

Looking up, Eddard Stark could see his son, Bran, once again climbing places he shouldn't. "Who's here Bran?"

"Those people that sent the letters to you father! They'll be at the gates shortly!" Cried out the adept climbing boy.

Ned's eyebrows furrowed. Though he had been planning this, he was still unsure of what to expect of the man and his companions. He had often heard of The Game played in King's Landing, and wanted nothing to do with it, but now feared he may have to stumble through it to deal with these strangers.

Ned had agreed to meeting with Hern as he did not want war either. And Ned wasn't even sure how many would come to the rescue of the Greyjoys, with all the trouble Balon had caused several years ago. But what had surprised Ned, was that Hern had agreed to meet with him here at Winterfell with little more than an honor guard of twenty. And, at the behest of Theon, had wanted Hern to bring the boy's sister to make sure she was alright. _"And the man agreed without arguing. Either he truly means what he wrote, or he's planning something,"_ thought Ned.

Ned sent Bran to get his wife, other children, Theon, and a few others to meet the guests, who arrived just as Ned's family got themselves in place. When the gates opened, the company that filed through left the residents of Winterfell dumbstruck.

Hern led the procession through the gates, clad in his Glass armor (only because Serana insisted that it was his most 'regal' looking armor) on top of Shadowmere, Serana in a polished version of her Royal Vampire Armor on top of Frost, the Blades in their full armor as Hern's official Bodyguard, the Imperial Soldiers clad in their armor with tower shields led by Legate Fasendil in his officer's armor, Ardainne had been given a set of full Elven armor (minus the helm), and Yara had been given Skyrim Nobility clothes. Even Blaise and Lucia were dressed in their finest clothes (though they had complained as much as their father had). Needless to say, they had quite the impact on the residents of Winterfell.

Ned had only glanced over the soldiers and guards at first, thinking more on what kind of armor the person in front was wearing, who looked to give the Cleganes a run for size. And then Ned did a double take, as nearly half the soldiers and guards were women! Several more things became obvious to the Stark patriarch. Such as several members not looking human. Indeed, two of them could quite possibly be taller than the Mountain That Rides! But with long, sharp ears, and large eyes, they were clearly not human… _"Not human!? Just what is going on?"_

The procession stopped, and all the riders dismounted, with the two in the lead making their way to Ned and his family, the one in armor removing his helmet.

 **Winterfell, Hern Hammerhand.**

After Hern and Serana dismounted, everyone else followed their lead, as the two, shortly followed by their children, made their way to whom Hern assumed was Stark and his family, getting more than a few curious looks.

When Hern got to where he was right in front of the man he assumed to be Eddard Stark, Hern put on a big smile, stuck out his hand, and said, "Eddard Stark I presume? Name's Hern, and this is my wife Serana. Pleasure to finally meet you."

To which Serana flicked his ear, and turned towards the Starks with a slight bow of the head, "Forgive my oaf of a husband. He's never been one for titles unless he could see the people having them for himself. He can also be painfully blunt." Serana finished, rolling her eyes at Hern.

The small exchange between the two certainly earned a few more stares, but not as bad as they first were. Eddard Stark, being the honorable man he was, shook Hern's hand back, "Pleasure to finally meet you Hern. I hope we can come to some understanding."

"Where's my sister, invader!?" Came a voice down the row from Ned.

Hern gave Ned a questioning look, to which the latter responded, "That would be Theon Greyjoy. Yara's younger brother and sole surviving son of Balon."

"Excuse me for a moment Stark," apologized Hern.

Hern walked to the source of the yell, and found a young man that looked similar to Yara being restrained by an older man, a guardsman if Hern guessed right. "Peace, Theon. Your sister is over with the others," Hern indicated with a gesture over his shoulder.

Theon looked, and for a moment, almost didn't recognize the young woman that was his sister, who had one of the very tall non-humans obviously guarding her. She was silent, but from what Theon could tell, unharmed.

"See? She's fine. You can talk to her later if you wish," assured Hern. Far be it from him to stop a family reunion, considering how happy he had been after his own. Theon only nodded, visibly calmer.

Hern went back to Ned. "Sorry about that. But as you can see, Yara Greyjoy is unharmed. She has been quite cooperative since we captured her. And you must be Eddard Stark's wife, Catelyn, correct?" Hern indicated towards the woman next to Hern.

With some strain in her voice from not being addressed her proper station, she replied, "Yes. I am _Lady_ Catelyn Stark, and these are my children," Catelyn's voice softened a bit as she indicated towards the younger Starks. "My oldest, Robert, Sansa is my eldest daughter. Arya my youngest daughter, Brandon who has a penchant for trouble, and Rickon my youngest. Children, say hello to Lord Hern and Lady Serana of House, Hammerhand?" The surname left Catelyn feeling odd about the name, going off of what the letters had on them.

The children, ranging from seventeen to five, all greeted Hern and Serana, with varying degrees to them. Robb spoke with respect, from one (soon to be) Lord to another, Sansa admiring how Serana looked the proper Lady, Arya curious, Bran with his mind somewhere else, and Rickon only halfheartedly, wanting to play.

Hern though, put his hands up, as if to block the title. "No need to call me 'Lord' or anything of the sort. Call me Hern, and we'll be fine. Nothing against you, just never liked being addressed as such. And here are our children, Blaise and Lucia."

"Good day Lord and Lady Stark," they said in unison.

At first Lady Catelyn thought they might be alright compared to their father, but then she noticed the daggers at not only Blaise's side, but Lucia's as well. She could only cringe, as she had been trying to get Arya to be more ladylike for some time.

Serana noticed this look, "We teach our children that if the event comes down to it, they may be the last line of their own defense. So they learn how to wield blades. But we decided they should leave their swords packed away. If that is okay with you?"

Catelyn shook her head a little, "That will be fine, I'm sure. Perhaps we-"

"Did you forget one of the kids? Who's the lad over there?" Interrupted Hern, who indicated towards one boy near the end of the line.

Ned spoke up as Catelyn grew visibly upset, with a little awkwardness, "He is my, bastard. Jon Snow."

This made the party from Tamriel blink in surprise, until Hern asked, "Bastard? And 'Snow'?" Hern had nothing against bastard children. Most in Tamriel didn't, especially considering what happened during the Oblivion Crisis.

Knowing where this was going, Catelyn turned and went back inside before she did something she may truly regret.

"Hern, during the war in which Robert became King, I had a, well," began Ned. Trying to figure a good way to say it.

"No, no need to go further Eddard. I understand that. But why 'Snow'? Shouldn't it be Stark?" questioned Hern.

Ned shook his head. "No. Each of the Seven Kingdoms gives bastards a last name indicative of the land they are from. Since Jon is from the North, his is Snow. Down in Dorne, where it is rather warm, and there are deserts, it would be 'Sand'."

"I see, I guess." Responded Hern. He felt bad that the boy was thrown into something out of his control, but right now, they had important business. Hern supposed he could see why it would be a soft spot for Stark's wife, but he didn't see how it was the boy's fault.

"L-l-Lord Stark," Hern fumbled with the title, trying to sound proper, "I suppose we should get down to business?" Indicating the reason, he and his company had come for, hoping to get it out of the way.

Ned couldn't help but smile at the awkwardness the younger man had by trying to use a formal title. "You can call me Ned, if that will be easier. And we may. I'll send for drinks so that we may discuss in comfort?"

Hern readily agreed to this, and the three, followed by a number of the guards, went in, leaving some of the guards and the children outside.

 **Winterfell, Courtyard**

It had been a spectacle Arya would not soon forget. That these people from an unknown land came to Winterfell in so many armors were quite bewildering. Even the Lord Hern, who must have been as tall, if not more so, than Greatjon Umber, wore armor the likes of which she had never seen before! It looked grand, but also looked quite strong!

But something had caught Arya's eye when the man had taken his helmet off. She hadn't quite thought it over until after Hern, Serana, and her father had gone in. So she asked the one person she knew would be the most honest with her, Jon.

"Jon, didn't that man seem awfully young to be an Ambassador or a High Lord?"

Jon turned to his sister, "Now Arya, we shouldn't just judge someone because they're from another land. Besides, he and Lady Serana have two children."

That's when the two heard a couple of footsteps. Turning, they saw that Lucia and Blaise had come over.

"Your sister's not wrong," said Lucia, "Father is only about ten years older than we are." Blaise nodded to emphasize the point.

"But how-? Why? I don't get it!" Cried out Arya in frustration.

The two children of Serana and Hern laughed a little, until Blaise explained, "He adopted us a while ago. He found us without families and took us in, first just to get us out of the cold, but then he became our father over time. It's been, oh." Blaise looked to his sister for a little help.

"About four years now," responded Lucia.

A Lord looking after orphaned children wasn't completely foreign to the Stark children, but they had another question, which came from Sansa who had been overhearing everything, but voiced it the wrong way.

"A Lord made a couple of _orphans_ his heirs? How does _that_ happen?"

The tone Sansa used struck a chord in the two children, who did not like being demeaned so.

"For one, _Lady_ Sansa, Father hasn't always been a Lord either. Back then, when he first found us, he was an explorer! And a person who helped others because it was the right thing to do!" Retorted Blaise.

"And then, as he is now, Father is one of, no, _the_ best warrior in the world! He has no equal! But he's also the best father there is, who gave us a family when we had none. If you demean us, you demean father." Supported Lucia.

Sansa was clearly taken aback, surprised that these two would snap at her so easily and readily. Arya though, loved it that someone else didn't like Sansa's 'Lady Snobbery', and was doing her best to keep her laughter in.

Arya's sister though, was left without retort and quietly went back into the castle with a huff. After which, Arya decided to make nice with the siblings. "I'm sorry about Sansa. She's obsessed with becoming a Lady to some knight or king."

"It's okay. We're used to her type," Lucia said dismissively, while still calming herself a little.

Jon had slowly made his way over by the wall of Winterfell to observe the situation. He had to admit, although the two children of Hern made many claims of their father, they dearly loved their father. And if not provoked, seemed to be easy to get along with. And the two being taken in certainly explained why they looked nothing like each other, yet looked to be about the same age.

Robb and Theon had gone over to see how Yara was doing, who was currently flanked by the two very tall non-humans. While Rickon and Bran had run off to play. Jon though, was now thinking about this Hern, thinking him to be rather interesting.

 **Inside Winterfell.**

When Eddard, Hern, and Serana made their way to where they would discuss what to do, they found themselves joined by Eddard's Maester Lewin.

"Greetings Lord and Lady Hammerhand," greeted the Maester sincerely.

An awkward moment passed before Hern cleared his throat, "That's actually not a surname as you may know it." Serana to his side simply nodded, looking exasperated.

"Then, what is it there for?" Asked Maester Lewin, generally confused.

"Think of it as sort of an, unofficial title I suppose, something to emphasize an accomplishment," said Hern, struggling to explain.

Eddard and Maester Lewin were a little confused by this, to say the least. So they naturally wanted to know what it meant.

"Well, back in Skyrim, where we came from, it's not uncommon to challenge someone to a friendly fight. And I'd been challenged by people from all across Skyrim, and never lost. People began saying that when I punched them, it felt like they were getting hit by hammers," explained Hern nervously.

Ned jokingly said, "I'd hate to get into a fight with someone with hammers for hands!"

Which brightened the mood some. It wasn't the most farfetched thing Eddard and Maester Lewin had heard of, and taking another look at the tall Nord, they could see that he had a powerful looking body. In the room, everyone took seats to discuss what they should do.

"Hern, Lady Serana, I know you wrote that you and your people had no desire to wage war and conquest on us, but by taking The Pyke, it is hard to believe otherwise," said Ned.

But Serana cut in before Hern could say anything, surprising Ned a little, "It really was not our intent. However, Lord Balon's daughter first tried to set an ambush for us out at sea, thinking us some poor merchant's vessel. Those that surrendered to us there, were spared and still remain alive. For The Pyke itself, we only approached with a single ship, flying the banner of truce. We had the rest of the fleet set anchor out at sea, but it seemed that Lord Greyjoy was adamant to destroy us. Needless to say, quite the opposite happened."

Ned was sipping some of his wine, while Maester Lewin waited for Serana to finish, and then began himself. "You must have had a considerable force to be able to overwhelm Lord Greyjoy's forces so quickly. And, what of the towns and villages, if I may ask?"

There was that question. It made Hern and Serana cringe uncomfortably. Not for what they had done, but for what they have heard what victorious armies do in these lands. "The people of The Pyke are fine, if a little unhappy that we have put a stop to their raiding. We have heard of what happens in Westeros when one army defeats another. I assure you, there was no sacking, pillaging, or looting. It honestly comes as a horrible shock that such barbarity is common here," said Hern truthfully.

It was Ned's turn. "But how do you keep thousands of levy soldiers in line from doing such things?"

This surprised Hern. "Levy soldiers? No, none of the forces we have brought are levy soldiers. Though nearly everyone can defend themselves should the need arise. It has been the policy of the Empire for countless years to employ professional soldiers. Not mercenaries or farmers given swords, but men and women who volunteer to fight and defend the Empire from internal and external threats Ned. Are you saying that the armies of Westeros are composed as such?"

This was a surprise to Ned and Maester Lewin. They had heard of such soldiers from places in Essos, but many of those were also slaves. But from what Hern just said, the soldiers of his Empire were all volunteers, career soldiers!

Serana though, put a hand on Hern's arm, "Hern, comparing militaries is one thing. But there is still the matter of The Pyke."

"Right you are, my dear." Hern took a deep breath, "I suppose you are wondering what we plan on doing with the Greyjoys? For Balon, there is considerable call amongst my council to have him executed for supporting and funding piracy, a grave crime amongst my people. Plus, it would get him to shut up so that the guards and other prisoners would finally be able to sleep. For Yara, she has been quite cooperative, and we believe much of her activities were done by force through her father. Nonetheless, she still participated, but her sentences would be to spend some time locked up in a cell, or kept as a prisoner for a time."

Ned found it hard to disagree. Several years before, Balon Greyjoy had tried to instigate a rebellion of his own, and begun a long series of raids up and down the coast. To hear that merchant vessels out at sea had still been targets of his, sounded a lot like the man.

Finally, Ned spoke his part, "And what of The Pyke itself? What do you plan on doing with it in the meantime?"

Hern and Serana looked at each other for a moment before Serana finally gave the go ahead nod. Turning back to Ned and Maester Lewin, Hern told them the truth. "In all honesty Ned, Lewin, we need a place that has a good sized port, but easy for ships between here and Tamriel to sail between. The Pyke offers the best of both. If you're worried for the people there, the trade between the two would directly help the people of The Pyke, and they would not be having to use piracy."

Ned agreed that in such a case, it would be ideal. Few other places in Westeros had the ports that Hern needed. "However, Hern. I do not think you controlling the Pyke directly would be, amiable to many," pointed out Ned.

"True. We do wish to establish an embassy somewhere though," admitted Hern.

Ned sighed. He knew this wasn't going to be easy, but in the short time he had met with the man, he could tell Hern really did not want anything to escalate. But Ned was forced into a corner now. "Hern, I'm afraid that the issue with control of The Pyke and you establishing an embassy is out of my hands. This, I fear, needs the Small Council, if not the King himself to approve."

Immediately Hern and Serana were uncomfortable. It was something they had been hoping to avoid for the time being.

"Lord Stark," interjected Serana, "we have heard some, rumors, about the politics in King's Landing. And aside from you and Lord Greyjoy, we know little to nothing about who is who. We do want to get into contact with King Robert, but we would prefer so under better circumstances. I think I speak for us all in here that none of us wish for war. Perhaps a compromise instead?"

Ned and Maester Lewin looked at one another, unsure, but motioned for Serana to continue.

"What we propose is this. That Yara Greyjoy, with some supervision in order to ensure no more raiding happens, take her father's place as the Head of House Greyjoy. She would have the backing of General Tullius and a number of his men to keep order. In exchange, if you are willing, we would like a place here in the North, with an either an established port, or one where a port can be created quickly. And enough land for the people we brought with us. Within the borders of the land, we would police it and control it, and be considered a portion of Tamriel. Though we would clear major projects and such with you, Lord Stark, and you would have the final say on many things, and if you required military aid, we would send what we can."

Hern and Serana thought it would be a fair trade. They had learned that, though The North was quite large, it had a very low population. And their forces, though only numbering about five thousand, were a professional force and worth many times their own number against levies. But then they noticed that something wasn't sitting well with Eddard Stark.

Serana, concerned she had somehow insulted him inquired. "Lord Stark, if I said anything that insulted you in anyway…"

Ned shook his head. "No, it is not like that Lady Serana. You did not insult me. There is a problem, and that is that only men are recognized as Heads of Houses in most of Westeros."

Maester Lewin then cut in. "Plus, you would have Lady Yara as a puppet in her own home. And what of her father, Lord Balon Greyjoy? You did not elaborate what you wish to do with him."

Hern cleared his throat, quite loudly. "We have no intentions of controlling Yara. General Tullius would only be there as a precautionary until we are sure she would not revert to her father's practices. It would not be the first time he has had to support a ruler on shaky grounds. As for women not ruling, forgive me, but I have met many capable women leaders, both in politics and in military. Legate Rikke, the General's second in Command, is one of the best field leaders I have ever met. And High Queen Elisif of Skyrim has turned into a compassionate yet capable leader in her own regard as well. I find limiting the role of capable individuals, men or women, to be a waste of good talent."

Hern tried not to notice the sudden glare Serana gave him, but he continued on. "As for Balon Greyjoy. He made it clear that he had no qualms attacking an otherwise neutral nation, ignoring what was supposed to be a sign of peace, funded and supported piracy, and was the clear aggressor who has since made many threats to my family, followers, and soldiers. I do not know how things are done in Westeros regarding such grievous crimes, but in Skyrim, and the Empire as whole, we execute such people. Particularly nobles who enforce acts of banditry and piracy. As it stands now, it is only a matter of when, not if, Balon is hung like the criminal he is."

Until now, Ned had appreciated Hern's blunt honesty. But now the man had just said that a Major House's Head would be executed. True, it was Balon, but short of the King demanding such, this was unheard of! Then Ned looked at Hern's eyes, something cold, hard, and determined. And saw something in him, something that Ned knew that meant that this man was not one to be trifled with. And Balon had indeed made him into an enemy.

Collecting his composure, Ned took a deep breath. "Lord Hern, I would implore you to stay the execution, at least until we can hear from King Robert or the Small Council. Or work something else out. In the meantime, I can agree to the other terms. For the finer details, perhaps we could finish this tomorrow?"

Hern glanced to Serana, who nodded back. "That will be fine Ned." Hern took a slow breath, closed his eyes, and then opened them slowly. And when he opened his eyes, Ned saw that they weren't the hard, and cold eyes from a moment before, but a more relaxed, friendlier look.

As if on cue, a servant knocked on the door to let them know that supper was ready.

Despite the initial tension between them, the Starks found themselves rather enjoying their guests. Hern had apologized to Catelyn for insulting her, while Serana stood by him, looking like a parent who had told their child to apologize.

Ned did have a particular question for Hern though. "Hern, if I may? What made you choose The North? Surely there are more hospitable lands to the South?

Hern gave a friendly smile, "That's easy Ned! The North reminds us a great deal of Skyrim! Your 'North' is not the only Northern Province we have been in. Skyrim is, in fact, the Northernmost Province in Tamriel. It reminds us of home."

Ned could respect that, and see where the man was coming from. If they could not stay home, then perhaps they could stay in a place much like it.

The only one who wasn't sure, was Sansa. She had been brought up to be a Lady, to represent her House and family to whomever she was to wed. She had been taught that Lords and Ladies were all fine and proper. Yet here was an ambassador from a foreign nation, who was crude, crass, and blunt. His children were not Noble by birth, and Hern himself, if his children were to be believed, had been raised to Nobility, and not born to it either.

Curiosity finally got the best of Sansa and asked, in as a Lady like way she could muster, "Lord Hern. Your, children, told me that you were not always a Lord. Is that true?"

Hern looked at Blaise and Lucia with a slightly annoyed and slightly amused look, who tried to avoid eye contact with him.

Turning back to Sansa, Hern replied in a calm manner, "Aye. It's true. In fact, about six years ago, I was just a merchant's son. Five years ago, a wanderer looking for place to call my own. Four years ago I became a father. Ever since a day five years ago, I've helped out a lot of people. Some of those felt grateful enough to name me a minor lord of their Holds. Or our version of the Kingdoms here, in a way. In all honesty, it was completely unintentional to get to where I am now."

Sansa didn't know how to take that. "What do you mean, if I may ask?"

Hern smiled. "It was never my intention to become a Noble or a Lord. I simply did what I had to because I was in the best position to do so. There is also something else for you to consider. In Skyrim, the High King or Queen, must be approved by the Jarls, or High Lords, or Skyrim. They consider many factors. Honor, courage, capability, and others." Hern paused for a moment. "Even if the High King or Queen's eldest is quite capable of taking over, the Jarls must still approve of them. For the raising of minor Lords, the Jarls take into account what the person in question has done to aid their Hold. If judged sufficient, then they are granted the title."

This gave Sansa much to think over, as it certainly turned many things she had learned on their heads. In fact, there was a long pause of silence as the Starks mulled things over and Hern's family enjoyed the meal of their hosts.

Then Arya broke the silence, much to the consternation of her mother. "You said High Queen? You mean that women don't have to be stuck as Ladies or the like?"

Hern was about to respond when Serana put her hand on his shoulder to let her talk.

"That's correct Arya. In Skyrim, and the Empire as a whole, men and women can choose to do whatever they want, so long as they have the capability to do so. They can be rulers, soldiers, storekeepers, and much more."

This left Arya wondering if she could ever go to Skyrim, or if Westeros could change to be more like it.

After supper, Ned asked if there were any songs popular amongst Hern's people, which made the Nord almost choke on his drink. Serana called in the soldiers who played on their way up as Hern recovered from his drink, hoping it wasn't what he thought it would be. He was sorely proven that it was, indeed the song he did not want.

The two bards/soldiers took their places at the end of the table. One a woman with a lute and the other a man with a flute. Together, they began playing the song that quickly enraptured the hosts. Though it made Hern grimace.

Our Hero, our Hero, claims a warrior's heart,  
I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes,  
With a Voice wielding power of the ancient Nord arts,  
Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes,

It's an end to the evil of all Skyrim's foes,  
Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes,  
For the darkness has passed, and the legend yet grows,  
You'll know, you'll know, the Dragonborn's come.

It was the shorter version of the song, but Hern, for once, glared at Serana, who gave a false look of innocence back, knowing she had set this up. But then they heard Ned clear his throat.

"Hern? Who or what is the Dragonborn?"


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8. Lessons

"Hern, who or what, is the Dragonborn?"

Hern could only groan. _"Of all the songs Serana had to choose, it had to be THAT one."_ Hern knew if anyone sang that song in Westeros, there would be inquiries. Especially after getting a brief history lesson from the Maester of the Pyke on the subject of the Targaryens. It wasn't much more than "Targaryens come with dragons. Dragons symbol of Targaryens. Last Targaryen king really fucked up." The Maester hadn't gone into much with the details, but the point was made.

Hern looked up from the table at Ned and his family. "You really want to hear the Tale of the Dragonborn?"

Ned looked a little lost. "It's a tale? From the song, it sounded like a person."

"A bit of everything. A tale, a legend, a song, history, and story. The Dragonborn has been many people throughout the ages. From the first, a crazed and power hungry man from ages almost forgotten, to a slave who threw off the chains of slavery, to a man who united all of Tamriel under his banner, ascended to godhood, and established a line of emperors, to the last of the Dragonborn emperors who gave his life to save the world. The Dragonborn has always had a role to play in the world. Talos, also known as Tiber Septim, is the most famous. Though his last descendent, the bastard born Martin Septim, last of the Septim Dynasty, is not far behind. And Martin Septim is where this begins."

"Martin Septim was the bastard born of the Emperor Uriel Septim VII, the last of the Dragonborn line. The Emperor and his legitimate sons were targeted, and killed, by a cult group known as the Mythic Dawn. A group that practiced what most would consider demon worship. The Mythic Dawn targeted the Imperial line in order to fulfill a prophecy that the one they worshipped, would rule the world. But the demon needed to be freed from his own world. Which, due to the Imperial Line holding the only key to safeguarding our world, you get the idea as to why. But Martin was not alone in his struggle. In fact, a woman was tasked by the Emperor himself to find and inform Martin about his heritage. The woman would go on to be known as the Hero of Kvatch, one of Tamriel's greatest heroes in centuries."

"The Hero of Kvatch was named so, because of the first deed she did after the Emperor was killed. She was to find Martin in a town called Kvatch. But when she got there, the only way in was blocked. Not by armies or disease. But by a gate into a realm of hell. And out of the gate would pour a seemingly endless stream of demons, monsters, and other nightmares. But the arrival of the Hero of Kvatch changed the tide of the battle. With the remaining guardsmen, they weathered the assault before she charged into the gate itself, freeing prisoners, and eventually destroying the gate. With the gate gone, the Hero and the remaining guards were finally able to enter Kvatch and defeat the monsters and demons that had occupied and destroyed much of the once proud town."

"After finally clearing the town of the infestation, the Hero of Kvatch found the bastard, who had grown up without knowing his heritage, and became a Priest of Akatosh. Our chief God. The two would then go on to save the world. Two hundred years ago, the world was nearly destroyed, when the demon, known as Mehrunes Dagon, invaded Tamriel itself. No mortal weapon harmed him. All who faced him, perished. But one man, with the support of his friend, the Hero of Kvatch, stood tall against the demon. In a brilliant flash of light, Akatosh, the chief deity of our people, the God of Time, descended and made Martin Septim, the bastard son of the last Emperor and last of his line, into his avatar. Now, imbued with the power of Akatosh, Martin attacked, and drove Mehrunes Dagon back into his realm. Sealing the demon away. Though victorious, Martin gave his life to save the world. And the Amulet of Kings, the symbol of the Dragonborn Dynasty, and barrier to protect our world from that of the demons, was destroyed, but forever sealed the barrier from the demons. But Martin, though the last of his line, was not the last Dragonborn."

Now came the part that was all too personal for Hern. Though he was not about to tell them why, and he had made his family and those who followed him to these lands to promise not to reveal that part until it was time. Not a simple task, but one that required discretion. "Now comes the Prophecy of the Last Dragonborn, which is who the song speaks of."

Hern began chanting the Prophecy he had come to know by heart.

" _When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world  
When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped  
When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles  
When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls  
When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding  
The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn."_

Hern then continued. "The 'World Eater' is another name for Alduin. The other parts of the prophecy are supposed to refer to certain events, supposedly, throughout our lands' history. But there is a lot of debate amongst scholars about it. However, Alduin did return several years ago, and laid waste to many. But then the Last Dragonborn arrived. No one knew who he was, where he came from, or what he would do. A common theme among such people, come to think of it. According to some, the Dragonborn faced Alduin first on the highest peak in Tamriel, forcing the dragon to retreat to places no mortal can go. But going off of ancient texts, the Dragonborn found a way to follow Alduin. And in a fierce battle that rocked through the heavens over Tamriel, The Dragonborn slew the dragon that had wrought so much damage for so long, and threatened creation itself. But shortly after, he disappeared. No one knew where he went or what happened to him, but he had done what he set out to do."

Finishing the story, a much abridged version, Hern studied the Starks. And noticed that there was a wide cacophony of expressions. Hern turned to his wife, who rubbed his shoulder.

Finally, Ned Stark spoke up, "I have to admit. That's quite the tale. But what sets these Dragonborn apart from other people?"

"One thing Ned. It is said they have the heart and soul of a dragon. The soul of an immortal being but the body of a mortal. A bridge. And this soul is supposed to allow the Dragonborn to not only be the ultimate dragon slayer, but also be able to use a special ability known as a Thu'um, or shout. Words of power, that, when used by Tiber Septim, were said to destroy entire armies before him."

Hern noticed a shudder go through many of the Starks, and could not help but think to himself, _"Armies aren't even the half of it. If they knew half of what a Thu'um could do, they would probably shit their pants right now."_

That's when Arya spoke, "But what happened to the Hero of Kvatch? What did she do after Martin Septim died?"

Relieved that it was a slight change of subject, Hern was about to answer when Serana intervened. "No one really knows. Like the Dragonborn, she just sort of disappeared into history. No one knew her name, where she came from, or where she went. It is a great mystery, but she is still admired to this day for her role during that crisis." To himself he thought, _"Unless you're a Thalmor. But that's something else entirely."_

Hern spotted the wonderment and admiration in Arya's eyes, as well as a fire he had seen in the Companions, and knew right there that this girl would never be the Lady her mother is. _"Too much fire in that one to be some lord's lady. If she were in Skyrim, I would have pegged her for a future member of the Companions, Blades, or soldier,"_ thought Hern. He had seen much the same fire in Blaise and Lucia, and with the help of the Companions, were turning into good fighters for their age. They were already talking about one day joining the Companions.

After some moments pondering this, Ned spoke again. "I must say, your lands have many legends. And, dragons? They have been dead and gone from these lands for centuries. Though I think our ancestors would not have minded having such a renowned dragon slayer amongst their number. But for anything else, perhaps we finish tomorrow? It is getting late."

For indeed it was, and all those in the dining room slowly filed out and went to their rooms, with Jon Snow showing Serana and Hern to theirs. Jon had been thinking over the story Hern had told, but wasn't sure of what to make of it.

"Lord Hern?" asked the bastard of Ned.

"Please, just Hern. And what is it Jon?"

"That story, about Martin Septim. Was it true? Was he really a hero?" Jon's question had the slight sound of desperation to it, not much, but enough if one listened.

Hern could see what the boy wanted out of it. "A hero? Yes, though I'm not sure if he felt so grand about it himself. But even today, many recognize his sacrifice and selflessness. And, though history may exaggerate some of his achievements, or leave some of his story out, he was real."

When Jon finished showing them to their rooms, Hern and Serana thanked him. Finally, alone, the two sat on their bed mulling over everything.

"Serana, what do you think of them?" asked Hern.

"I think that they are good people, and that we may have tied Ned's hands on the matter. He didn't appear very comfortable with having to go to the king about it anymore than we did. It will be a shame to give up The Pyke, because of its position," Serana said a little mournfully.

"True, it is ideal, though Balon certainly did us no favors by starting that fight." Hern took a deep breath, after the long day and the long journey here, he just wanted to sleep. "Come on, let's get some rest for tonight and see what comes tomorrow."

 _He woke up, dazed and confused. Looking around, he found himself in the back of a wagon, but not alone. To either side and across from him were several other people, all bound, and the one next him wore a mouth gag. He didn't recognize any of them. He tried to move his arms, but found they too were bound._

 _The person across from him noticed he was awake, and started talking, but nothing was really registering to him. Most of the people around him were clad in a chainmail armor, with a blue undercoat. Except for one other, who said something about stealing horses._

 _The wagons then pulled into a walled town, in the middle of a courtyard, where Imperial soldiers were standing at attention. The wagons then slowly emptied, as one by one, people were called out. The horse thief tried running, but was struck by a couple of archers. One soldier asked him who he was. All he could utter, his head still throbbing, was "Hern." The man nodded regretfully and had Hern join the others who were lined up around a headsman._

 _A man next to Hern interrupted the Priestess, and put himself on the chopping block, only to have the axe swing down and remove his head from his body seconds later. Suddenly, there was a distant noise, unlike anything anyone had heard. But it was ignored. Hern heard his name called, and they heard the noise again. But in a daze, Hern made his way over to the block, felt himself get pushed down, and watched as the executioner prepared himself. But then, a sight that broke him out of his daze came storming from the clouds, a monster blacker than night, and roaring. A massive dragon had come!_

 _The dragon landed on top of the tower just before the headsmen's axe came down, and the beast roared. And Hern felt the impact. And then the beast roared again, but Hern felt he could almost hear words spoken, and Hern felt the blast of the roar as he could he down the dragon's throat._

Hern shot up in bed, sweating. He hadn't had that dream in a long time, but hated it nonetheless. He had never been so helpless or so afraid before in his life. _"Alduin. Even today, he still haunts my nightmares. I defeated him years ago, but the damned World-Eater keeps popping up. Need to stop with those stories."_

"Hern?" came a concerned voice.

"Sorry Serana. Just, just a bad dream. Go back to sleep," responded Hern.

"What dream?" Serana said in her no-nonsense voice.

"The day I first came to Skyrim." Hern noticed the worried look in Serana's eyes. "Come on, let's get some sleep while we can," insisted Hern.

"Okay, but let me know if there's anything I can do, alright?" Responded Serana gently.

"Will do."

Over the next several days, although on more amicable terms, Ned and Hern were nowhere close to finding an alternative place for a potential embassy. Though other than the meetings, the members of Hern's party found themselves quite comfortable. Each falling into a routine.

Hern and Serana would spend the late mornings to the early afternoons in meeting with Ned, Maester Lewin, and at times, Catelyn. The rest of their days were spent wandering Winterfell, mentoring Blaise and Lucia in various forms of combat, and conversing with the residents of the Northern Fortress.

Ardainne would spend part of her time chaperoning Yara, keeping a close eye on her, and would be relieved by a female member of the Blades or Imperial soldiers to give her a break. During her breaks, she would either see if Hern or Serana needed anything, did a little training of her own, or spent time with Legate Fasendil.

The Imperial Soldiers and Blades would spend times keeping up their training and patrolling the surrounding area, with an escort of Stark guards of course. And, with the approval of Legate Fasendil and Ned, the Winterfell guards began learning some tactics from the Imperial soldiers.

Blaise and Lucia, outside of their training with their parents, quickly befriended many of the Stark children. The exceptions being Sansa, whose whole idea of nobility had just come crashing down around her head and hadn't gotten over it just yet, and Rickon. Rickon was more due to being significantly younger than Blaise and Lucia, and preferred to run around doing his own thing, then any actual feelings of animosity.

But one thing remained constant, whenever Blaise and Lucia were trained by their parents, they always had one audience member, who hid just around the corner, or behind some objects, hoping to, if nothing else, learn from watching without being discovered. But it is incredibly hard to hide from people that have senses that go well beyond that of any human's.

During one such training session, Hern had Blaise and Lucia spar against each other with wooden replicas of longswords, so as not to cause anything more than bruises, in forms that seemed strange to the people of Westeros. Rather than simply swinging the swords by the grips, as most of the men there were familiar with, Hern was teaching them what he called 'half-swording'.

When Hern had first started, the Master-of-Arms, Ser Rodrik Cassel, had scoffed at the idea. Until Hern challenged him to a little match. Hern used half-swording while Ser Rodrik used his standard style. While Ser Rodrik was considered one of the best in the North in sword play, the highly controlled and flexible style that Hern employed quickly overwhelmed the Master-at-Arms, gaining a degree of respect from the man.

But now, Hern was leaning against a post by some bales of hay, giving out advice to both Blaise and Lucia while they dueled, ever aware of a certain 'wolf' just behind the bales. "That's it Lucia! With your sword like that, you can use the pommel like a war hammer! Blaise, you can use your own cross guard to block and hook onto her sword!"

Hern looked on with pride. Both of them were learning fast. Although they had watched him and others plenty, the best teacher was experience. Which brought him to the 'hidden' audience member. He didn't mind, but since coming here, he had learned that Yara, despite leading men into battle, was a rare exception. Most women, particularly those of the nobility, were expected to do little more than pop out babies for their husbands. Hern, Serana, and the other denizens of Tamriel thought that was a waste, to put it lightly. But Hern thought he might have a little talk with Ned about lessons. In the meantime, though…

"Best pay attention little Stark. It may not be actual practice, but it's better than nothing," Hern said quietly. In response, he heard a small, surprised gasp.

Without coming out, Hern heard a little bit of moving around, and heard a voice ask, "How did you?"

Chuckling, Hern responded, "I have my ways. Still hiding from that septa of yours?"

The response was little more than a grunt.

"Don't worry, I won't tell."

Since coming to Winterfell, Hern had gotten more of a purchase for the people at the fortress. The Starks in particular. Ned, Hern had found, reminded him greatly of his friend Jarl Balgruuf. A ruler and leader that valued honor over political machinations. Catelyn, despite the initial rough start, seemed a fair and competent Noble. If not for Westerossi customs, Hern thought she would be a capable ruler as well. Enough so, that Hern thought she could govern the North if she had to. Though he really didn't want to think of any such circumstances that would make that happen.

Robb Stark, to Hern, seemed like a younger version of Ned. But with less experience. But the boy greatly admired his father, and took honor as serious as Ned did. And wasn't bad with the sword either. But a little too idealistic. Not a terrible thing, but it could hamper him.

Sansa, although she had calmed herself since that first night, still seemed confused as to how to react with Hern and his family. Well, except Serana. The girl seemed fascinated and frightened of Serana at the same time. Hern could hardly blame her. It was natural for most humans to be naturally afraid of vampires, particularly of Serana's kind, though Sansa was unaware of Serana's nature. _"For the best,"_ thought Hern. It still didn't stop the Stark girl from trying to emulate the same presence as her though.

For Arya, Hern had been right. The girl had the nature of a fighter about her, no matter how much her mother and 'septa' wanted her to be a Lady like Sansa strived so hard to be. And this was far from the first time he had found the Stark girl spying in on his lessons, but it had been the first he had acknowledged her presence. Hern almost wished he'd brought Aela to at least give the girl a few lessons on the basics of knife play and archery.

Brann was the adventurous sort, and had a habit of climbing the walls and towers of Winterfell. Though despite his fearless attitude towards his explorations, the boy had trouble learning weapons. Not for a lack of trying, but for all the boy's efforts, the results were poor. Though for swordsmanship, he was still fairly young. But in archery, the boy had the eyes of a Falmer. Though the Falmer had great hearing to compensate, if Hern had to be honest.

Rickon, was a wild child. Still quite young, and always running around and getting into trouble. Though when he had burst into Hern's rooms trying 'play' with some of Hern's things, the boy hadn't expected to be lifted several feet off the ground by his collar to look Hern dead in the eye. That was all Hern had needed to do to get the wild child to behave better when he was around. Still, a good kid though. Better than Braith back in Whiterun. That brat had only gotten worse over the last few years.

For the bastard Jon Snow, Hern found the boy held himself distant from everyone but a few. His father, sister Arya, Robb, and the Master-At-Arms. Hern found the boy to idealize his father greatly, and well-practiced in the sword. And Hern had found out that Jon was lucky compared to most bastards. Mainly that bastards were usually left with their mothers and rarely supported. Jon though, was receiving the same education as his half-siblings. Hern couldn't help but wonder what the boy's plans for the future were. As heirs to Winterfell were hardly lacking, and Catelyn didn't particularly care for the boy. Through no fault of his own. Hern doubted he could change her opinion of Jon.

Walking back to the main keep, Hern had a few inquiries for Ned. But first, he had to talk to friend of his.

 **The Iron Islands**

The new fortifications were being built on time throughout the region known as 'The Pyke'. It had been one of the first things General Tullius and Hern had ordered to be done. Prior, aside from the fortification also known as The Pyke, the islands had been relatively undefended, aside from the ships they had. It had made the General rather angry that some lord had left his people so defenseless. And so careless as well.

And though the first few days there had been many angry people, once they saw that so long as they didn't break the laws now being enforced, they would be left alone. And soldiers on duty either worked the fortifications, under the directions of various architects that had come with them, or patrolling the islands and keeping the peace.

But right now, General Tullius was rather concerned about the number of spies and informants Hern's 'people' had dug up. Street urchins, whores, orphans, servants… The list was extensive. And thanks to the work of said Dragonborn's people, many of them had switched over, supposedly. He would keep an eye on them still. However, even more concerning, was that most of them claimed to work for one of two people in the city known as King's Landing. One known as 'spider' and the other as 'littlefinger'. And few, if any of the spies had known each other.

Currently, he and Legate Rikke were interrogating a fisherman that had been found out. Apparently he had ferried news from the mainland to the Iron Islands prior to their arrival, but to some other party. The only good thing was, after Hern's own people caught them, the informants were quite willing to talk.

Sitting at a table, the prisoner with his hands bound and sitting at a table had a terrified expression on his face. Behind him stood a couple of the Blades. Hern had taken some with him, but left many of them on the Iron Islands. They mainly policed the dungeons. Tullius, who was sitting, had Legate Rikke to his side, and a pair of Imperial soldiers behind him.

"Tell me again, who do you work for?" barked the general.

"I-I-I work for the L-Lannisters, my lord!" stuttered the fishermen.

" _Those sons of whores, huh?"_ Needless to say, Tullius and Rikke had learned about the Lannisters, and did not like what they heard. The head of the house seemed to be a power hungry man who ruled by fear, and used brutal tactics to suppress others. His son had killed the previous king while being that man's own guard. Mad King or not, that didn't sit well with them. The daughter, they had heard little about and the youngest son they only had heard him be referred to as 'Imp'. Either way, Tullius and Rikke felt that the Lannisters may become an issue at some point. But one that could, hopefully, be reasoned with.

The last thing Tullius wanted was a war with some power hungry fool. Right now, they had established a main port and had sent a few ships back with messages for High Queen Elisif and the Elder Council that they had made contact with Westeros and they were in negotiations, but it would be months at least before they heard anything back. Tullius felt it best to leave out the part where they had been forced to take over one of the provinces though.

Focusing back on the fishermen/spy, Tullius decided he would squeeze what he could out of this man. "Okay then. You're going to tell me everything you can about the Lannisters. Their connections, forces, strengths, and weaknesses. And you better tell the truth, else you'll end up like the last person that tried to fight us."

As if on cue, a blood curdling shout could be heard from within the dungeon's depths.

 **Winterfell**

"Are you certain about this?"

Hern had asked the woman for the third time, trying to be absolutely sure.

"For the last time, yes. I even have the book here that this 'Old Nan' lent me."

The woman whom Hern was talking too, a certain mage that specialized in Healing, had told him she had found something that may involve one of their objectives. When it had turned out to be a story book, even Hern was a little skeptical. "If you say so. But tell me a little about what you found first."

"To put it shortly; a long time ago there was another race of beings in Westeros, called 'Children of the Forest' who, though primitive, possessed incredible magic. But at one point, mankind came to Westeros and battle the Children for generations. During the war, it seemed that these Children had enough power to actually change the landscape on a large scale, and used it in several places. But during this war, an enemy unseen before, attacked both. Relentlessly. During this time, summer turned to winter and lasted a full generation." The mage noticed the look from Hern. "That's the phrase they used, not me. Needless to say, the story says how terrible it, even to the point of saying that mothers killed their children rather than see them starve. That sort of thing."

Hern didn't like the sound of this. His memories were already going back to what Akatosh had shown him.

The mage continued, "These beings worked their way South, killing and destroying everything in their way. They rode on dead horses."

Hern snorted, barley holding back his laughter. The mage didn't take to kindly to this and zapped him a little with a lightning spell. It wasn't that he found riding on dead horses to be ridiculous, it was the fact he had one himself that he found funny.

"As I was saying, they rode on dead horses, and get this, had hunting packs of pale spiders as big as hounds."

Hern stopped smirking. He had seen for too many spiders that size. Hell, he'd seen and killed spiders bigger than damned horses! Most in Tamriel knew of the Frostbite Spiders. Which meant this children's story may uncomfortably more true than he liked.

The mage's face showed her own concern. "I thought that would get your attention. But to continue, the Children and the men, now known as the First Men, joined forces and, with a lot of sacrifice, were able to push the beings back. They called these creatures Others or White Walkers. From how they're described, they sound a lot like draugr. Though draugr rarely venture outside of their tombs. And after driving them back, the leader of the men, with what was left of the Children, built a huge wall far to the North from here, stretching from coast to coast. Funny enough, the man that led the humans, was the ancestor of the Starks."

Hern was a mixed of impressed, and stunned. Impressed that the mage had been so thorough, as she had pretty well locked herself away in the library. Stunned, that what she had told him matched up too well with Akatosh's warning. Taking the book from the mage, Hern flipped through it a little. "Thank you Colette. I'll be sure to go over it later. See if you can find anything else."

The mage nodded and went back to scanning the books she had out.

Exiting the library, Hern nearly ran into Serana who had been patiently waiting for him.

"Fancy meeting you here, come here often?" Teased Hern.

Serena gave an amused smile, "Cute. Terrible, but cute. This just came in by way of raven," and handed Hern a letter with a distinctive marking that few even in Skyrim knew.

While an unusual method of sending and receiving messages by raven, Hern had to admit it was considerably faster than a messenger. In fact, it had proven invaluable. When they had hit the Iron Islands, there were only two ways to get messages out. By boat or by raven. A lot of the boats and ships that the Iron born had, were destroyed. The Pyke fortress, the largest eyrie of ravens in the province, itself had been taken shortly after landfall before any outgoing messages could be sent. And after discovering the importance of the ravens, the troops had been moved out to capture any other places where ravens were kept.

Hern immediately recognized who sent it, and gave wolfish grin. He was glad to have brought the Thieves' Guild along. But he would have to read it at night. "Been waiting for this. But we'll look at it later. Right now, I want to ask Ned something."

Serana quirked her eyebrow at him. "It wouldn't have anything to do with your little watcher the last few days, would it?"

"Not just that one. Maybe the other one too," Hern replied.

"Okay. Though I doubt a certain patron of the House would be thrilled," replied Serena, not looking forward to having to explain their reasoning.

The two made their way to where Ned was, out in the courtyard watching Robb and Theon spar with swords. Theon had been avoiding Hern at nearly every turn, refusing to interact with him. Hern couldn't think of why. It's not like he invaded his home, imprisoned his father in the dungeons, held his sister captive… Hern came to a realization. _"Oh. Well shit."_

Coming up beside Ned, Hern and Serana stopped to watch the match play out. Ned acknowledged their presence with a slight nod, not taking his eyes off the boys. Hern knew enough that both were capable swordsmen, but saw that Theon's style was off. The younger Greyjoy's attacks were wild and barely controlled, and completely disregarded defense. Robb though, was parrying or simply dodging the well telegraphed strikes, waiting for his chance. Which came rather soon when Robb hooked Theon's sword in his cross guard, and disarmed Theo, who threw up his hands, partially to yield and partially in anger. Theon then stormed off after catching sight of the audience.

Ned shoot his head. "I believe you know why he's like that."

"Aye," replied Hern.

"But you didn't come just to watch an angry young man lose in a practice match, did you? You only seek me out like this when you have something important to tell me or ask."

" _Guess I've been around him too much already,"_ thought Hern. "You're right. And I have a proposition to offer you."

Ned turned towards Hern, arms folded against his chest. "What would that be?"

"How would you feel if I taught Arya and Bran how to fight alongside my own children?"

Ned paused for a moment. It hadn't been quite what he was expecting, but Hern had a tendency to do that with people. Brann he could see needing the help. The boy wanted to be a knight when he grew up, but was having terrible luck getting the timing and basics down with a lot of weapons. If Hern could provide an alternate way of training Brann, that worked, Ned wouldn't have a problem with it. Arya though, he had reservations about.

"Brann would be fine. Arya though? I don't think it would be bad, but her mother and the septa would have my head Hern," Ned responded. He felt like he wasn't far from the truth either.

"Ned, if Cat-"

WHACK

"Ow. If Lady Stark has issues with it, she can take it up with Serana," responded Hern, rubbing the back of his head where his lovely wife had just slapped him.

This confused Ned. "With Lady Serana? Surely you mean yourself?"

"No, my husband really does mean me. As I told him to tell you so. If your Lady Wife has any problems, she can come to me and I will explain the reasoning. I will explain that as the daughter of an old, ancient even, family, even I was taught self-defense. I would even suggest your other daughter join us, but she seems, averse to doing such things herself," explained the vampire.

Ned sighed. If it really were that easy, he would have done it some time ago. His little Arya had the spirit of a warrior, not a lady. But his wife and the septa were adamant. "You'll need to talk to my wife first, I'm afraid."

Serana gave a curt nod and went in search of Catelyn, but before going, Hern caught her arm. "Remember, none of _that_ now, okay?" Serana responded with a guilty look, but then continued on her way.

Ned didn't bother to ask. Everyone had their own secrets, though with these two, he could hardly tell when they were serious or not at times.

"What else did you come to tell me, Hern?" asked Ned. If it had just been as simply as asking to teach his children how to fight, Hern would have waited for a more opportune time.

"Well, we've had The Pyke province locked down for weeks now. It's honestly amazing there has been no gathering of troops to see what happened. But, timely manner or not, I think it's time I sent a that letter to King's Landing, and to see what to do about Balon," admitted Hern. It wasn't something he was looking forward to, but it was going to happen sooner or later. And best to let them know what happened from the horse's mouth, so to speak.

"What of Lady Yara?" questioned Ned.

"If nothing else, I would leave her here in your hands. She would be with her brother and safe from political machinations. However, if I have to hand over the Iron Islands to one person, I'd prefer it to be her. She seems quite capable in her own right. And being much younger than her father, could be more open to change, but could use a guiding hand in governing," responded Hern.

Ned was quite for a moment. "I agree. And I shall send a letter with yours, backing you. Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, is a good friend of mine. Between him and King Robert, you should have at least a fair meeting. You have stayed true to your word, been a good guest, and have regaled us with stories from your homeland. You have even offered to teach my children swordplay for no benefit to yourself."

Not exactly the response Hern had been expecting, but it wasn't a bad one either. "Thank you Lord Stark. Hopefully with that, we will avoid war or any other future conflicts."

"Does this mean you will open the Iron Islands up?" asked Ned.

"A day or so after I send the letter. I want them to hear it from me first, before someone twists events around," responded Hern. Ned nodded in agreement.

 **King's Landing, Red Keep**

To say that the air in the meeting chambers of the Small Council was thick with tension would be an understatement. Just a few days prior they had received word from Winterfell that The Iron Islands had fallen to a force from a land none of them had heard of, Balon Greyjoy sat in his own dungeons under charges of provoking war and engaging in piracy, Lord Stark sending his own letter confirming the reports, and to top it all off, the man that led these forces had sent the letter himself! It was not a good day to be a known spymaster, no matter who you were. Jon Arryn made sure of that.

"Why, in the name of the Old Gods and New, didn't either of you know about this!?" Ordered the Hand of the King.

Varys and Petyr Baelish were the targets of Arryn's ire. And it hadn't been until after the first two letters came that they had finally heard from their own contacts. It was no secret that both had extensive networks, but they had done little for such a thing. And both were rather uncomfortable with the glares of the entire room on them.

"I have no excuses, Lord Hand. It does seem however, that they had completely shut down all communication between the islands and the mainland," admitted Varys. Unlike his counterpart, he would admit when something did not go right.

All amongst the Small Council, there was also conflict. Though this man and his forces had taken over the Iron Islands, they had only done so after Balon had tried to attack them. And they all had to believe it, as the man had openly advocated piracy and raiding for some time. Yet the Iron Islands were still a part of Westeros.

For Jon Arryn, the fact that Ned was vouching for this man, after trying to work out negotiations, but unable to find a satisfactory solution, but both had suggested putting Yara Greyjoy on the throne of The Pyke, under supervision of course, somewhat tipped him towards at least hearing this person out.

Stannis Baratheon though, seemed closer for war than anything. "I do not see why we don't go clear his forces out from the Iron Islands. By his own admission, he only has a few thousand soldiers. He was the one who took the them by force." Stannis was well known as a competent commander and he felt he would be able to expel these forces.

His younger brother wasn't as adamant though. "While this 'Hern' admits to taking the islands by force, it is not the first time Lord Greyjoy has been so aggressive. Perhaps we should hear this ambassador out before rushing into battle brother?"

If there was one thing Jon Arryn could count on, it was the two younger brothers of Robert refusing to agree on something.

"What does the King say?" asked Maester Pycelle.

" _And there's the kicker,"_ thought Arryn. Sighing, "The King has decided to leave it to the Small Council. Lord Stannis, the letter we received from this ambassador has detailed that since taking over the Iron Islands, a number of fortifications have been set up, and it seems their naval power is not to be underestimated. Lord Greyjoy did this, and by this ambassador's own admission, nearly the entire Iron born fleet was destroyed. As Hand of the King, and taking into account each of your opinions, I have decided to send for Ambassador Hern so that we may meet with him." To himself, Arryn thought, _"And hope that war does not come. If they could put together a fleet of a hundred vessels and ten thousand people, this Hern may be able to summon a much larger force in the future."_

Not everyone looked happy, but one thing the ambassador's letter had been adamant about was that he did not wish for war either. They would hear this person out, but promised nothing beyond that.

 **Winterfell**

Although it had taken some convincing by Serana, Arya's and Brann's lessons began after only a couple of days of trying to convince the Stark matriarch. Hern thought it would have taken a week at least, but did not let the pleasant surprise go to waste. Although both were eager to learn the sword, their new teacher was going to have them start off small.

"We're training with knives?" Asked a bewildered Arya. She had been hoping to take up the sword like her older brothers, Blaise, and Lucia.

Her brother Brann was just as taken aback. "I thought you were teaching us swords?"

Their new mentors shook their heads. Both Serana and Hern would teach them while Blaise and Lucia practiced their own forms. Clearing his throat, Hern explained. "First of all, I said I would teach you to fight. Swords are only a part of it. Furthermore, Arya, you have no real prior training with weapons, beyond prancing around in the woods with a branch, which I'm sad to say, doesn't help."

Arya's face turned beet red. She had thought she was alone when she went there. So how Hern knew about that, shocked her. But Hern wasn't done as he turned to her brother.

"And you Bran, wield a sword like a club. A rather unwieldy one at that."

It was Bran's turn to turn red.

"That's why we're starting with the basics of knife play. And before either of you protest, a quick knife has saved my own hide more times than I can count. Even against swords. The nice thing about knives, is that they don't require strength. It's about speed, precision, and intelligence. And rather than steel blades, we will work with wooden ones, so that you don't cut each other open like pigs," explained Hern.

The two Starks didn't look very happy about this still. Arya objected. "But Blaise and Lucia are training with swords, so why can't we?" Brann nodded in agreement.

"Because, those two, we have been teaching for over four years now. They started off where you two are. Not knowing the handle from the blade of a knife. It's where everyone starts. But due to your ages and lack of experience, we decided on this," explained Serana.

Grudgingly, the two Starks agreed. And for the next few hours, Hern and Serana had them spar and learn the basics of knife play. By the end of it, both siblings were sore, bruised, and tired. But they had learned a few valuable lessons. That should the time come down to it, their parents may not be able to protect them. They would have to protect themselves. Their two mentors drilled that into them hard.

Over the next two weeks, the two Starks trained in knife play, getting better bit by bit. Both becoming more determined to get better than the other. After two weeks, Hern and Serana felt Arya and Brann knew enough knife play to move up to the next level; archery. Brann had trouble, while Arya took to it almost immediately, giving both Hern and Serana pleasant surprises.

Being the better archer between himself and Serana, Hern went to Brann as he was preparing to launch another arrow at a target. It was best to teach good habits early, rather than late. In a quiet and calm voice, he spoke. "Brann, calm your mind. Clear it. Take everything that is bothering you, and put it into a flame. Burn it all until there is nothing left. And then snuff out the flame until there is nothing but you, and the target. Don't hold your breath, but breathe easy. Good. Now release."

The bowstring snapped and the arrow sailed through the air, as if time slowed, to find its mark almost dead center.

Smiling, Hern congratulated Brann. "Good job Brann. If ever your mind becomes clouded, just remember that little trick. You can even use it outside of weapons to help concentrate." As a last bit of advice, Hern then said, "Remember Brann, a distracted mind is a terrible thing."

Brann gave Hern an odd look. "But, doesn't Lady Serana berate you for that?"

Slightly turning red, Hern cleared his throat. "Well, no one is perfect and there is always room for improvement. Remember that as well." Turning to Arya, "That also goes for you Arya. You can become a great fighter, but there is always room to grow."

The two Starks nodded and went back to practicing their archery. Hern stood back, watching the new improvements in both. His next lesson though, would be a bit more practical. But one thing was bothering him. It was taking too long for a damned raven to return to Winterfell.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9. Unpleasant News

Arya was stalking her target. She'd been following the target for over an hour now. Being careful not to make a sound. Peeking out from behind a tree, she finally saw the figure, stooped over while sitting on a rock, hood of their cloak up.

Gripping her weapon tightly, she first started slow and deliberate towards the target. Inching closer. But she did not know how long her target would remain there, so she picked up her pace. Bit by bit. Raising her weapon, she was now jogging, and brought the knife down on her target!

Only for the cloak to fall off of a bag of dirt. Surprised, she began looking in all directions, knife in front, stepping this way and that, until she triggered an unseen trap.

"Aaaah!"

The next thing she knew; Arya was hanging upside down from a tree branch not far from the decoy. That's when her target came out, this time without a cloak. A rather tall and muscular man, no older than his mid-twenties, with a short beard, ice blue eyes, and light brown hair coming down to the bottom of his neck, wearing simple clothing. But he was not alone. Under one arm, he was carrying a smaller figure, tied up, and not all that happy about his predicament.

The tall man let out a small chuckle. "You're both getting better, but you still have much to work on."

The man set down the boy on the rock where the dummy was, and cut the bindings. "Brann, you ran off ahead of your sister, too eager to get me, and letting yourself be heard from a long way off. You made it far too easy to capture you."

Coming over to Arya, he cut the rope and caught the girl before she could drop far, and set he on the ground. "While Arya, you were too slow. It caused you to lose sight of your partner and your target. Let's not forget you losing your patience with the dummy target. If it had been real, they would have reacted and gutted you like a fish. Then you panicked when you saw it wasn't me. Remember what I told both of you? You must have a clear mind and opened eyes. If you let your mind become clustered, it could prove disastrous. If you don't take in your surroundings, you could fall into a trap. But that's why I'm teaching you this."

The two Starks nodded. Earlier in the week, Hern had begun teaching them how to hunt and stalk. For what purpose, they had asked, he had replied, "Countless." He had told them not only would this teach them how to hunt, but how to evade in the case they may be the hunted as well. As they would know how someone hunting them would act.

The two enjoyed their training. Although Hern was not cruel in his teachings, he wasn't exactly gentle either. And he held nothing back when pointing out what they did wrong, so that they could work on it the next time. Arya loved the lessons compared to what she had been going through.

Hern looked up at the sun to determine what time it was. Turning back to the Starks, with a smile he said, "Okay, I think that will be all for today you two. Let's go back to the castle before your parents hang me for having you two late for lunch. But remember, keep up on your other lessons."

Arya and Brann nodded, and helped Hern clean up. After that, they followed their Nordic mentor out of the woods and to the dominating fortress.

 **Winterfell, Catelyn Stark**

Lady Catelyn Stark was wandering through Winterfell, until a figure up on the battlements caught her eye. It was the person she wished to talk to.

As she got closer, without turning, the figure greeted her. "Greetings again, Lady Stark. What do you wish to discuss with me today?"

Catelyn paused. How Serana and Hern could always tell when someone was nearby being a complete mystery to her, but she had grown somewhat accustomed to it. "If you are concerned about the surrounding forests Lady Serana, they are quite safe."

Serana turned her hooded head towards Catelyn, with a knowing smile. "I'm not worried about the woods. Even back home, few things are a threat to Hern. And he would protect your children with his life." Serana turned back, looking out over the wall. "Here, it has been far quieter than it ever was in Skyrim. Traveling between cities could be quite dangerous. Bandits, pirates if you sailed, wolves, bears, saber-toothed cats, and giants just being a few of the dangers."

Catelyn furrowed her brow. "Giants? There are tales of giants North of the Wall, but most think they are legend."

Turning so she completely faced Catelyn, Serana spoke. "Oh, I assure you. Giants, in Skyrim at least, are quite real. If you keep your distance, they'll leave you alone. But get to close, and they will hit you with a club bigger than a man."

Though it took her by surprise, Catelyn had learned to control it since the denizens of Tamriel had arrived. Nearly every day, she had learned something new about them. But the most pleasant of all, despite Hern's blunter and more casual attitude, was that none of them tried to cause any trouble. Other than the occasional drunken off-duty soldier being overly loud. But other than that, they had been quite respectful, even helpful.

"That, is fascinating, Lady Serana. However, I came here for another reason. A letter just came from King's Landing," said Lady Stark, handing the letter over. However, the look Catelyn saw on Serana's face was not the most pleased one. "Is something wrong, Lady Serana?"

"It took nearly three weeks for them to send word back. That's rarely a good thing. I do thank you for letting me know. Plus, Hern and your two children shall be here soon." Explained Serana, after glancing back over the wall.

Catelyn turned to peer over the wall and saw three figures approaching Winterfell, one noticeably larger than the other two. Though she had agreed to allowing Hern and Serana personally mentor Arya and Brann, she still had reservations. Though she would be lying to herself if she hadn't seen notable improvements in them. Arya seemed much happier than she had ever been while being taught by the septa. And Brann's capabilities with weapons had improved markedly.

"Shall we go greet them, Lady Serana?"

"We shall."

The two made their way back down to the ground floor. Catelyn to check on her children and Serana to pass the news on to her husband.

 **Arya**

As Arya, her brother, and their mentor made their way to the castle, their mentor began telling them the next stage of their training.

"Now that the both of you are starting to get used to this training exorcise, I'm going to begin incorporating more weapons into your training schedule. First up will be the mace and shield. For you two, it will have to be rather small shields, until you both grow bigger."

Arya looked to her brother. This isn't quite what they were hoping for. Both were eager to learn the sword. "Hern," spoke up Arya, "when will you teach us the sword?"

Hern stopped for a moment and turned to face them. "I'm holding off on the sword because compared to most other weapons, it is the hardest to truly learn. The mace though, is the easiest. Unlike a sword, you do not need to find the weak points in armor, swing it around all fancy like, or anything of the sort. It's actually quite the under used weapon. The strength of the mace, lies in its simplicity. You simply hit with the flanged head. Combined with good shield technique, even some of the most heavily armored foes will fall."

Arya wanted to argue, but found it hard to do so. But she was still frustrated about it.

Hern saw this. "Don't worry about the swords. The maces should go quick. I just want to make sure you both are well rounded. You may not always be able to use a sword, knife, bow, or any other such conventional weapons. It is better to be well rounded, than limited to being a master of a single weapon that you don't have."

The two young Starks nodded, understanding now. They continued to the gates of Winterfell to find Serana and their mother waiting for them there. Arya saw Serana say something quietly to Hern while handing him a letter, and the Nord's face turned grim.

Arya's mother though. "How are you two? Unhurt? I know I agreed to allow Hern to train you, but I just want to make sure you two are fine."

Arya rolled her eyes while Brann told their mother that they were fine, if a little tired and hungry. "Like Brann said, we're fine mother."

Catelyn Stark gave them a once over look, before following them in, leaving their guests to their own business. Brann told Arya that he was going to meet her later, and let Arya continue on alone to get some food.

When Arya got to the dining room, Blaise and Lucia were already there, just about to eat their meals. Picking out a seat across from them, Arya sat down, wanting to talk.

Arya did not want to dance around the subject, so she asked with a determined expression. "Blaise, Lucia, did your father really start the both of you out with knives, bows, and maces?"

The two simply looked at her, amusement in their eyes before Lucia began explaining. "It's true. Father likes to start out small. We had to go through all the same lessons that you and Brann are. Though father is making you go through it much faster and harder than with us."

This bothered Arya. "Why? Why is he?"

Blaise cut in, swallowing his food. "Because we don't know how long we will be here. For all we know, we could leave tomorrow."

Arya's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat at the thought of them leaving so soon. She had grown attached to the visitors. Blaise and Lucia even helped her train when Hern or Brann could not, as they knew the training regimen themselves. And she didn't want her new friends to just up and leave!

Blaise saw this and quickly fixed the misunderstanding. "N-no! I didn't mean that literally. Only a real emergency like an army coming to sack Winterfell would that happen. And even then, we wouldn't abandon you. Besides, we wouldn't leave without several days' notice."

This calmed Arya down. Amongst these visitors, she felt normal and treated as such. Not being forced to be something she was not. She did know though, that they would not be able to stay forever, but she would get what she could while they were here.

 **Hern**

Hern had thought, since it was taking so long, that the people in King's Landing would send an army or something against him. Instead, they waited weeks to send a letter by Raven. Hern could already feel the machinations against him being put into place. His last letter from Elsen though, had been quite informative; in that King's Landing had at least three sets of spy rings.

The first one was the Master of Whisperers himself, a man by the name of Varys who had a tendency to employ orphans, urchins, and others. Unorthodox, and would normally go unnoticed, if Hern's own informants didn't do the same. And with the appropriate persuasions, they were easy enough to flip.

The next one was a man by name of Petyr Baelish. A man who ran brothels and often used drink and women to pry loose the information he wanted. His informants had seemed quite scared of him, but refused to elaborate on why. Hern had a feeling that the person was much more than he seemed. And reminded him of Mercer Frey. Another man who frightened those under him, and used their information for his own purposes. Definitely a man to keep an eye on.

The last one, Hern had a sinking feeling about, especially with the new letter. The Lannisters. A powerful family from the South that used gold and ruthless tactics to get their way. Not as extensive as the other two in terms of spies, but certainly ones to look out for. And their having such influence over the throne was noted. Possibly dangerous.

But the letter he received gave him a bad feeling. Feelings he got only when trouble was around the corner. Opening the letter, Serana reading over his shoulder, Hern grew tense.

 _To the Ambassador known as Hern,_

 _We have received your letter. In many cases, your act upon the region of The Pyke would be considered an act of war. However, the Small Council has come to the decision of meeting with you first, before deciding as such. The letter we received from Lord Stark vouching for you does little to convince most here, some believing you to have some control over him._

 _As it stands, we would wish for you to come to King's Landing, with a guard no larger than fifty, in order to discuss the issue. While doing so, we will be sending official observers to The Pyke in order to see that no harm has come to the land._

 _We await your arrival, Ambassador._

 _Jon Arryn,_

 _Hand of the King_

Hern could read between the lines. War hadn't been averted, not yet. And he suspected the people they were sending to The Pyke would cause trouble. Openly or covertly, this whole thing reeked of Thalmor trap. But with humans this time.

"What do you think Serana? Should I walk in and spring the trap?"

"Hmm. I wouldn't be brash about it, for once."

Hern smiled, it had been what he was thinking. "I agree. But I think I'll send for some friends before heading South. Perhaps even sailing there."

"An interesting idea. But let me guess who you want to send for. Those overgrown mutts." Serana gave Hern a look that said, 'don't cause too much trouble with them'.

"Among others, yes. Which means I'll have to send for them first."

"Your two new pupils won't like that." Warned Serana.

"Neither will the other two."

Serana glared at him. "We're not taking Blaise and Lucia? But why?"

Hern's look was a sad one. One of regret. "Because. In this letter alone, I see two plots, maybe three unfolding. Who knows how many more? I refuse to let them try and use my family in their games. Bad enough I had to get involved." Hern braced himself for what he felt was coming.

Serana nodded for a second, before realizing what her husband implied. "Oh, by Oblivion you are NOT leaving me behind either Hern Hammerhand! You know I can take care of myself! You know-"

Hern cut her off. "I know full well you can take care of yourself Serana. That is not the reason why I want you to stay. If something goes wrong, you're next in command of this mission. General Tullius and I have agreed to it already. Tullius, he's a good man and a good officer. But he's not the politician you are." Hern then gave her a loving smile. "Besides, I'd rather you look after Lucia and Blaise and keep them out of trouble, then one their 'uncles' or 'aunts'. And having this 'observer' smells like trouble from a mile away. So you can't just go back to The Pyke."

Serana pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly not happy. But when she looked back up to Hern, she wore a different expression. "Fine. But you WILL make it up to me." Serana then whispered her terms in Hern's ear, and the Nord's face lit up with excitement.

"Will do, my dear wife. Will do."

 **Ned Stark**

Ned was in his study, going over reports on harvests, news from those sworn to him, wilding incursions to the far North, and so on. But that's when a knock came on the door.

"Come in!" Called Ned.

Ned looked up as the door swung open, to reveal Hern and his wife Serana. Although he had been wary of them at first, they had proven to be very good guests, and if he were to be honest, he came to like and respect them.

"Hern, Lady Serana. What can I do for you today? I trust the training session went well?" asked the Stark patriarch.

Hern looked a little startled, but recomposed himself. "Oh, that went fine. Both Arya and Brann are improving by leaps and bounds. But that is not why I came here."

Ned set his quill down, slightly puzzled. "Then, if I may ask, why?"

Hern looked to Serana, who nodded reluctantly. Ned could see whatever Hern had asked his wife, she was not thrilled about, but agreed to it.

Putting his hands on Ned's desk, Hern looked Ned in the eye. "Ned. I have a very large favor to ask of you. You have been a great host who has lived to his word and reputation as a good and honorable man. But the favor I ask, is not an easy one, and one not made lightly."

Ned wasn't sure what had the two so grim. "What is it?"

"First, I finally received a reply from King's Landing. They want me down there to 'discuss' things over while sending an observer to The Pyke to 'make sure things are going well'. I have no doubt your friend Jon Arryn is a good man, coming from you Ned. But the letter as good as told me that war may be imminent and the observer may try and cause trouble. And, truth be told, I would not be surprised if they have some sort of trap waiting for me." Hern paused. "The first thing I ask, is that you look after my family while I'm away. I know it is asking for a lot, but in the short amount of time we've been here, I've come to feel I can trust you."

Ned was silent for a moment before responding. "I will watch over them. They shall have my protection. But why do you feel so threatened by a letter?"

"Because, Lord Stark. We have had the unfortunate business of running into people that have done very similar things. We fear they may try and use us as leverage against my husband," responded Serana.

"I'm not asking you to side with us in a war, Ned. And I dearly hope it doesn't come down to that. All I ask, is for you to watch over my family until some of my troops can come pick them up in such a drastic case, and to keep nosy ears away," finished Hern.

Without hesitation, Ned agreed. "I have seen all too often what happens when men march for war. In King's Landing, after the Lannisters sacked it. It was… It was a nightmare. I would not have your family harmed as long as I am Warden of the North."

Relief flooded the couple. Ned could sympathize.

Hern then said, "The next thing is more of a trade, Ned. In exchange for this. I normally wouldn't do this, but like I said, I've come to find you a trustworthy man."

Ned had a conflicted look on his face. "Are you sure? If it is that secretive, shouldn't you keep it to yourself?"

Hern let out a nervous laugh. "Normally, yes. I would, but this is not a normal situation, and what I asked you to agree to puts you at a lot of risk, connections or not. I feel it only fair to do so as well." Deeply breathing, gathering his bearings, Hern then told Lord Stark. "You remember that tale I told you that first night we came?"

Ned nodded. He had found it interesting and fascinating to learn tales not of Westeros. And of people from not all that long ago.

"Well. You remember how I said that the Last Dragonborn vanished without a trace?" Without giving Stark a chance to respond, Hern continued. "Well, he didn't completely vanish. In fact, he retired from the hero life. Retired from wandering the world, stopping evil, clearing out bandits, and slaying mudcrabs. He decided to settle in with his two adopted children and, for a time, loved one whom he gave personal space, not wanting to harm her after her past. Despite their feelings for one another, the two did not marry for years."

Ned was beginning to realize what Hern was telling him, his eyes growing wide.

"But then one day, after three years of living a peaceful life, the Dragonborn received a message. A very urgent one from the Elder Council, the current ruling body of the Empire, themselves. At first, he was incredibly reluctant to go, despite who had sent it. But later that night, he received a vision, one that warned of a great menace to come. That would spread throughout the world, if not stopped. And he was told that the Elder Council would tell him everything else he needed."

Ned could hardly believe what he was hearing. Was it true? Was Hern, a man whom he had grown to trust, even with his own children, spinning a great lie? Or telling him a truth as fantastic as the legends of old?

Hern collected himself. Making himself more determined. "What I am telling you, Ned, Lord Stark, is that I am The Last Dragonborn. A position I did not seek out I assure you, but was destined to. My coming here to establish ties was true. But only half. The other half being is that I am also here to try and stop what I believe to be your 'Others' from legend."

Ned felt incredulous. "The Others? It has been 8,000 years since they were last seen. Surely they are all dead by now."

Hern and Serana both shook their heads. But Hern continued, "Ned. I have seen so many things that were once legend come to life, I do not put aside old stories so easily. Hell, six years ago, everyone including myself, believed dragons to be mere myths back in Skyrim. I believed that until Alduin, the World Eater himself, descended from the skies and inadvertently saved my life as I was about to have my head lopped off."

Ned was clearly trying to wrap his head around this. It was a lot to make sense of.

Hern saw that Ned was having a hard time believing him. "Ned, I'll show you something that will most likely convince you. But I do ask you not to reveal this to anyone." Hern only got a nod in response.

"Okay," said Hern, "Just, don't panic."

" _Mul Qah Diiv!"_

Ned was blinded and nearly deafened for a second as a blinding flash of light suddenly engulfed Hern, while the shout in a strange language rumbled through his bones. When his vision cleared, Ned nearly fell out of his char.

There was Serana, standing where she normally did. But next to her, was Hern. Covered in what looked like transparent armor that came in a multitude of colors. And shaped much like the dragons of old!

"By the Old Gods, Hern! What is this!?" Wondered Ned.

"This, my friend, is known as the Dragon Aspect Shout. In many ways, my most powerful Thu'um. My strength is greatly increased, the rainbow lights you see around me act as armor, and it strengthens my other Thu'ums. Or shouts, as they are known in our tongue," responded Hern. He then let the armor go.

Recovering himself, and clearing his head, Ned was finally understanding. "So _you_ have fought and killed dragons? You are the Hero of Skyrim?"

"I never claimed to be a hero. Others," Hern gestured towards his wife, "call me it whether I want it or not. I just so happened to be the person in the best position to help how I could. Few, even in Tamriel know of this. My family, the Blades, General Tullius, and a few others know. You are doing me a great favor Ned. This was the only way I could return it."

Ned nodded and pulled out a bottle of wine and a glass. After he filled the glass, he then began drinking out of the bottle. After a few moments, Ned feeling a little calmer, asked, "When will you be leaving for King's Landing Hern? That's a long ride down."

"I've just sent word to some friends on The Pyke to bring a ship and to come and grab me. Then we sail for the capitol. Perhaps a week or so before they get here. It will be time enough to get Arya and Brann to their next phase of training as well. As they will be able to train with Lucia and Blaise while I am gone." Responded the Dragonborn.

"I thank you for trusting in me so much Hern. I feel honored. It's just, just…" trailed off Ned.

"A lot to take in, and you need time to process it? I know how it goes. I'm still getting used to it myself, and I'M the damned Dragonborn!" Laughed Hern. "But I'll let you finish. Serana wants to talk with me in private anyway. Until next time Ned."

Ned nodded, "Until next time, Hern."

 **Sansa**

After just finishing up her lessons with Septa Mordane, Sansa was heading to eat her lunch, passing by a couple of people just about to go into her father's study. "Good afternoon Lord Hern, Lady Serana."

"Good afternoon Sansa," they greeted. Serana then asked, "Are you sure you would not wish to train like your sister and brother are?"

Sansa grimaced. It was not the first time Lady Serana had asked her, and while she had come to admire Serana for her beauty, demeanor, and way she could keep her husband in line, she had refused to join in the training. "I'm sorry, Lady Serana. But I must refuse."

When Serana nodded, Sansa was glad. When she had first tried using the 'wanting to be a lady, the wife of a brave knight', Serana had given her a disapproving look. It had not been what she expected. It had come as even more of a shock that near everyone in Tamriel, from the lowliest of peasants to even the highest Lords and Ladies would carry around at least one weapon they had familiarity with. But Westeros was not Skyrim. She just wanted her shining knight.

Sansa made her way down to the table and found their guests' children already eating with Arya. She had no idea how her younger sister had convinced their mother to let her train with weapons, and encourage Arya's un-ladylike behavior, but Sansa just hoped that Arya wouldn't ruin anything.

"Lord Blaise, Lady Lucia." Sansa greeted as she had been taught. Looking at her sister dismissively, "Arya."

"Milk drinker."

Sansa paused mid-step. _"What was that? Did she just call me a 'milk drinker'?"_ Turning to her sister rather confused, Sansa demanded an explanation. "Just what is that supposed to mean?"

That's when Sansa noticed Blaise and Lucia trying to hold their laughter in. "Do you two know what that means?"

Recovering quicker than her brother, Lucia explained. "It means 'coward' or 'pathetic' depending on when it is used."

Sansa glared at her sister. "You little ingrate! Why do you have to be like that!?"

Arya glared back. "Be like what? A normal person? Better than some milk drinker that's too stupid to take freely offered lessons."

The two were just about to jump each other when a hand gently rested on either's head. Looking up, they saw their father. Who had a disappointed look. "You two know better than to fight. Especially in front of guests."

Hern had arrived as well, hearing the commotion. "Now Blaise, Lucia, where did Arya learn that particular Skyrim phrase?"

His two kids looked back confused. Though the quiet there didn't last long until Arya, again, spoke up. "I heard you say it, Hern. Several times."

Sansa rounded back on Arya. "Lord Hern would never say such a thing! He's a-"

"Hmm. I guess I did at that," muttered Hern, incidentally quieting Sansa. "Though Arya, as much as I appreciate you listening to what your teacher says, it may be best to know what it means before saying it. And not just calling someone that because they do something different than you. That's another lesson to take to heart. People are all different, and not all differences are good or bad, but simply are."

"I understand." Replied the youngest Stark girl, feeling a little ashamed.

Sansa still could not wrap her mind around Lord Hern. Half the time he acted the part of a noble, much like her father. The other half, like some rapscallion. Though she was thankful for the noble aspect of him this time.

"Besides which Ned," Hern said, "probably best if you did let the two go at it. It's worked wonders for Blaise and Lucia."

Okay, so Sansa could be wrong at times. Thankfully for Sansa, her father rejected the notion of Sansa and Arya 'going at it', though the next news left her with mixed emotions.

Hern cleared his throat, getting the room's attention. "Well everyone. Since most of us are gathered here, and I trust the others will hear soon enough; in about a week's time, I'll be heading South when some friends from the Iron Islands get here. I'll be going to discuss the situation in King's Landing. However, Blaise, Lucia, you two will be staying here with your mother while I'm gone."

"But father!" Called out Blaise and Lucia.

"No 'buts' you two. This has already been decided. And while I'm gone, you two will be in charge of Arya's and Brann's training. The Companion's Circle will be here for a night to rest, and we leave the next day. And while you two may be in charge of Arya's and Brann's training, your mother will be in charge of _yours_." Lectured Hern.

Sansa saw that Blaise and Lucia visibly paled when they were told that last part. She had come to respect the two, in their own ways, over the last few weeks. She had apologized to them for her outburst, and found them to be rather well learned, in large part thanks to their father and mother and discovered they were good company, if not as sophisticated as what she was used to.

But for Lord Hern to leave, while not particularly sophisticated, he was not a bad person. Other than suggesting she and Arya actually fight!

Sansa though, could see her sister wasn't particularly happy.

"What about learning the sword? You said you would teach us the sword!" Demanded Arya.

Calmly, Hern explained. "I did. But like I said, learning the mace and shield is rather simple, but effective. Shouldn't take more than a day or so to get that down, then I can teach you and Brann a few basics about the sword. From there, Blaise and Lucia should be able to help you two catch up to where they are. And I'll be having Ardainne continue with teaching you sword play after that. The Legionaries and Blades are both good, but they are more, specialized, than what you two are going to be learning."

Sansa shook her head. She couldn't understand how her siblings kept up so many training exercises on a daily basis. Though she had to admit, she wondered why Lucia and Blaise had not seemed so confident about their mother's training, whatever that entailed. The two were usually quite calm and in control of themselves. Maybe she could peek at what their lessons were during her own free time.

 **Ardainne**

Since being assigned as Yara's primary guard, Ardainne had been trying to get to know her better. Partly out of curiosity and partly because Hern was curious at what made her tick. However, the young woman was quite defensive, though Ardainne could hardly hold it against her. Being taken prisoner, home being taken over, and transported to a different province where her brother was also held captive. _"Though to be fair to the both of them, it's not like they're being kept in chains or in the dungeons,"_ thought the Altmer.

The biggest, and best surprise, had been when Hern had Serana remove the ring they had placed on her months ago. To say it had been inconvenient would be an understatement. It had been a royal pain in her Altmeri ass. She was used to using magic to start fireplaces and cool drinks. Along with several other such mundane things that she had taken for granted. So going months without it had given her some insight into those that either did not use magic, and even those that cannot. And since coming to Westeros, it seemed few, if any, people had the knack for learning magic.

For the moment, she was 'guarding' Yara while in the prisoner's room. Having Yara study up on Tamrielic history for the most part. Despite being the daughter of a man that had been dubbed by many as a 'Pirate King' due to his position and endorsement of piracy, Yara had proven to be able to see beyond such things and admit that changes were sorely needed.

During their stay, Hern or Serana made sure to visit the captive to make sure she was otherwise fine or needed anything. As well as several talks about the future of the Iron Islands. Hern had made it perfectly clear that he intended Yara to take her father's place as ruler of The Pyke province. When Yara had asked why, Hern had replied, "Because unlike your maniacal father, you're not reckless and you don't throw lives away. That alone puts you above him. I know Westerosi custom is to typically have the eldest male be the next heir, but in Tamriel, it's the oldest child. So long as they are competent. You'll have our backing, once this whole thing is settled."

Although Yara had not shown it at the time, Ardainne had seen a new spark in her. A new ambition to make her lands prosperous. And if they could open trade between the Iron Islands and Tamriel, the trade would be incredible! Even before they left, prospectors had found abundant yields of iron ore, corundum ore, and even some ebony ore.

The book right now though that Yara was reading through, had been one of Ardainne's. When Yara had asked if Ardainne had any entertaining books, it had been the first she pulled out. It was a guilty pleasure of hers, though she had not expected Yara to take to it so. _"I just wish that the third volume of the Lusty Argonian Maid would be published already. I've already read both volumes a dozen times!"_ thought the now disappointed Altmer.

A knock came on the door though, and the visitor was told to come in. It was Hern. The Nord came in and stood at the door for a moment, pondering with his arms folded.

"I've already told everyone else except you two. In about a week's time, some friends are coming here and escorting me to a ship to King's Landing. For now, you two are to stay here. Ned has agreed to keep an eye on both of you so nothing happens," said Hern.

Yara set the book down. "May I ask why?"

Giving Yara what Ardainne thought might be a look of pity, Hern explained his reasoning. "Because the last thing either of us want is to get directly caught up in the games they are playing there. Some of my people have rooted out dozens of spies of theirs already throughout the Iron Islands. And to top it off, they are sending observers there that may try and disrupt things. You saw for yourself that my people have no foul motives. Neither of us wants them to get their grubby fingers on those islands. Myself though, I don't have a choice but to go. But here, you'll be out of their influence."

Ardainne nodded. She had come to expect such an attitude from the Dragonborn since meeting him. If one thing was consistent with him, he didn't like taking unneeded risks with people if he could help it. And life in Winterfell wasn't bad, if a little cooler than what she was used to.

"Now then ladies, since I told you what I needed to, my presence is required elsewhere." With a quick wave, the Dragonborn left the room.

Yara was still watching the door. "I can never read him. It's as if he's a locked book that only opens when he wants too."

"He is a bit of a mystery, but his intentions are good. That much I do know, Lady Yara. By the way, enjoying the book?"

"Yes, actually. I didn't realize Tamriel had such things. Is there more after this?"

"Only one other volume, so far. But there is hope of a third coming out before too long." Ardainne relaxed some more. This was about the extent of their 'friendship', but it was something to build on. At night though, when her replacement came, she had a few plans for her 'friend' and fellow Altmer, Legate Fasendil. But bringing her mind back to the present, she hoped that whatever the Dragonborn had planned, would go well.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10. Dog's out of the Bag.

Howling and roaring, the beasts ran. Tirelessly, effortlessly, they ran. Creatures of the forest fled before them, none wishing to impede the monsters. Humans heard them, and fled or hid, but never saw them, fear overwhelming all other reason.

Through forest, fields, and hills they ran. Never slowing, never tiring, running all day and night. Always moving.

 **Winterfell**

Arya was breathing rather hard. She had been training with the sword for the last few hours, and she was aching all over. _"Hern was right. It is a lot harder than I thought,"_ Arya told herself for the hundredth time. While their training with the mace had been quite quick and easy, the sword was no such thing. Especially as no sword felt quite right to her, despite her mentor's best efforts. For the time being, she was using a replica of a Blade's sword, but made from a heavy wood to replicate the weight. Light, quick, good at cutting, but against good armor it wasn't very effective. But it had felt better than most others.

Her opponent was her brother, Brann, who was wielding a two-handed wooden long sword, giving him reach. But Arya's sword gave her more flexibility, particularly up close. The two had just parted from their last bout, both with bruises.

"Okay, take a rest you two," called out their mentor.

Both practically dropped their weapons, barely holding the handles. However, Hern was not the only one watching. Their older brothers, Jon and Robb had also been watching, intrigued by the various sword styles that had been shown by the Nord.

Looking up to Hern, she saw that the man was now quietly talking to Jon about something, but she was too tired to be curious at the moment. Ever since Hern had received the letter, he had been drilling Arya and Bran harder than usual. And though they were both using swords, they had found they each had a particular specialty in terms of weapons. For Arya, she excelled with lighter, quicker weapons. Knives in particular she had a knack for. Her brother had turned into a natural archer ever since Hern had taught him that particular trick with the flame.

Finished talking with Jon, Hern looked back towards Arya and Brann. "Okay you two, you can have the rest of the day to yourselves." To which, both nearly fell to the ground in relief, their brothers coming to help them. While Hern went off towards the smithy.

Robb went to help Brann while Jon came to Arya, handing her a bottle of water. "You really are getting better. But how does that sword feel?"

Arya shook her head. While it was better than others, it still felt off. "Still not quite right."

It had been frustrating for her. Though everyone kept saying she was getting better, she felt like she was running headlong into a wall. She had tried several types of swords. Short swords, long swords, even a great sword that she nearly tripped over just trying to wield.

"So, what did you two talk about?" Arya finally asked, after several long swallows of the cool water.

"Actually, he asked me a few things about how you normally act when not training. Don't know why, and it's not like it was anything secret," responded Jon, unsure of what Hern was getting at.

The two contemplated what the man was up to for a moment until Jon asked Arya something. "Why do you think he started wearing shirts with such high necks? It's not cold or anything, and his first few weeks here he wouldn't even button up his shirts unless Lady Serana scolded him for it."

Arya shrugged. She had no idea, and had very little opportunity to ponder such things with her training schedule. Though now that she thought about it, it was a little odd. _"No matter though. I need to remain focused. Like he said,"_ determined Arya. She was set on being the best fighter she could be.

 **Hern**

Hern had left the courtyard and went to the castle smithy. Watching Arya fight and talking with Jon had given him some insight. The girl was quick and agile, but preferred decisive blows. Both literally, and metaphorically.

Her brother, despite his initial struggles with weapons, had finally found his niche as an archer. _"Still needs to work on the nocking though."_ Hern also mused that, with a short sword, he wasn't bad either. Both of the Starks he was teaching were learning quite quickly.

Getting to the smithy, Hern asked the man where he kept the steel, leather, and wood for sword making. After a moment's thought, he sent for a Blade to get a few extra materials from his room. After the man got them out, Hern paid for the materials and began his work, surprising the smith. The Blade came back later and laid the materials he had collected nearby, and left Hern to his work.

Hern had an idea for what Arya could use. Having the right type of weapon was quite important after all. For instance, though most associated the man with swords, he preferred a weapon truer to his heritage, though his was more unique in several aspects.

While working on the weapon for the girl, Hern mused on several thoughts, as he normally did. He greatly enjoyed smithing, creating rather destroying and felt it was relaxing. The foremost thought of which was the long-necked shirts he had been forced to wear. Even with his advanced healing, Serana's passions at night were quite hard to cover up. The vampire wife of his was bound and determined to make sure the time they had left before Hern ventured South was well spent. He loved the woman dearly, but it wouldn't kill her to bite in less obvious places! One could only use 'bug bites' so often.

Looking at the spot he was at with the weapon, it was little more than molten metal. But a start no less.

The next that came to mind was King's Landing. A thought that had been present since the last letter. He knew he would have had to go eventually, but he was far from looking forward to it. One thing he had learned during his years running around Skyrim, was to be prepared for damn near everything you can. And if half the rumors were true about the place, he would need to be doubly prepared. But thankfully, he had made a lot of good, if eccentric, friends. Some far more than others. Though it would be interesting to see the biggest city this side of the Shining Sea.

Looking over the progress he had made, the weapon was now a lump of metal, barely in any recognizable shape.

Hern's mind then drifted off towards The Iron Islands. He received updates regularly from Tullius and Rikke, so he knew that essentially building the islands up from scratch was going well, all things considered. And with re-opening the islands, trade for the high quality ore was bringing in gold to help fuel the construction and open up new markets. Fortifications were also being built in key areas in order to better secure the islands as well, with roads connecting them so that if needed, troops from one could reinforce another in good time. And the new local spy network was slowly spreading throughout Westeros, many of them former spies of one person or another.

Pausing, Hern eyed the would-be-weapon again. He needed to reheat it before hammering it anymore.

His thoughts then shifted to that of Blaise and Lucia. It hurt that he would be leaving them behind, but if his experiences with the Black-Briar family, the matriarch especially, told him to keep his family out of potential trouble. Not that the two didn't already make enough trouble as it was, they made far too well of a team at times, but he would be damned to Oblivion and back before he let some manipulator use them as a leverage. The two had been through enough as it was.

A few darker thoughts began entering Hern's mind, but he pushed them away. He did not want to think on those for the time being. He had enough to concentrate on.

The ringing sound from the smithy would continue until late in the evening, occasionally drawing the casual observer who would watch the large man work the forge like an experienced smith. Finally done, Hern held up his newest creation. He had seen the like a few times, but the style for it was out of his hands, for once. But he had a good idea of who could teach the girl to wield it.

Putting the newly forged weapon down, he turned his focus on the materials that the Blade had brought by. _"A bit of this, a bit of that. Oh, there we go! Yes, I think this will work nicely for the boy."_ Hern then began working on his second weapon.

 **Arya**

Arya was out for another of her night time walks, though since Hern began training her, she used them to practice her sneaking. Her brother preferred climbing new areas of the castle, further strengthening his limbs. When Hern had found out about their extra activities, rather than chastise them, he had laughed! While he did warn them not to overdo it, particularly Bran, he did tell them to keep practicing such exercises in order to further their skills.

Tonight though, Arya just wanted to go through the castle and relax with the quiet of the night. Though certain words stood out to her from what she had been told.

" _When sneaking or hunting Arya, especially something dangerous, you do not want to be seen, heard, or noticed. So while doing your nightly walks, do not be noticed. If you are, you go straight to your room the rest of the night, as you were found out."_

It had irked her, particularly the first couple of nights she was caught, but she did go to her room. And when she did, she would think on where she messed up. Since then, she has been getting better.

On this night, it was a peaceful night. A good one to help one relax after a long day of training with weapons. Arya was enjoying the quiet. Though Winterfell is hardly a bustling city of any sort, the quiet of the night was welcomed, and the nearby open window offered a brilliant view of the stars.

"AROOOOOOooooo!"

Arya froze. She'd heard wolves howling before. But this sounded like no wolf she had ever heard. The howl seemed to freeze her blood. Unlike the higher, lonelier sound that wolves normally make, this was deeper, and sounded as if issuing a challenge to an unseen foe.

Her first thoughts went to the direwolves, but she tried pushing that from her mind as no one had seen direwolves this far south in at least two centuries. Still trying to calm her nerves, she heard a quiet _pit-pat_ of soft-soled boots running on the floor. If she hadn't been out, she would never had heard it.

Shortly after she first heard it, she saw a blur run by the end of the corridor. Unless her eyes had been deceiving her, she could have _sworn_ it was Hern! Arya then followed as quietly as she could without falling too far behind. Following the large man up the stairs, she remained as quiet as possible, curiosity perked to the highest, fear from a moment ago, forgotten.

Arya followed Hern to a door that led to a portion of the wall not normally watched, as it was sheltered by the folds of the castle. Arya was puzzled, but her mentor, who had been walking since the stairs, began picking up speed, running straight at the edge of the wall! That's when the man jumped over without hesitation!

Rushing to wear Hern had jumped, Arya looked over the wall and saw Hern. Or at least a glowing white figure that looked like him. Eyes widening, she was about to shout when the white figure turned back into Hern, who began walking calmly towards the forest. Unsure if she was now more fascinated or scared of the man, she decided to take a page out of Brann's book. She began climbing down the wall.

Thankfully, she was small and light, which allowed her to get just enough purchase on a slightly sticking out brick here, a corner there, in order to get down. When she did, her arms and legs were sore, and her hands and fingers roughed from the climb. Looking back up the wall, she wondered how she had ever gotten down.

Turning around, there was just enough moonlight to make out Hern approaching the woods. And as there was no one else that would be out of the castle this late, it made it all the easier for her to follow the Nord. Staying low and quiet, she kept the man in sight. She was surprised that Hern hadn't turned to her and yelled 'Gotcha!' as he normally did in such situations.

Following along at a distance, but keeping the figure in sight, she followed Hern to what looked like a clearing. But something about that clearing seemed off, as one end seemed to have four large and dark colored rocks. But then the rocks began moving. And then they seemed to rise out of the ground. Higher. And higher. Arya's eyes grew wide and hid behind a bush, trying to keep from panicking at the sight of…

 **Hern**

"Really? I thought I told you four to keep a low profile. Not scare the shit out of the entire North on your way here." Hern was pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration while standing in front of four rather large and vicious looking beasts, all easily towering over him.

"I apologize Harbringer. You did say to make haste," said a proud, yet feminine voice.

"As do I, Lord Thane. But this was faster than any horse." This time a softer female voice.

Hern rolled his eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you, you don't need to call me Thane or Harbringer. And come on, change back so I don't get a sore neck from looking up at all of you."

The four great beasts then began to shrink in size, losing nearly every part that had made them monsters and looking like regular humans. Aside from specially made clothing that, as thanks from an 'acquaintance' of Hern's, allowed the transformations to not leave them naked. Though anything else would be torn to shreds.

"Sorry Hern," voiced Vilkas.

"Aye. It was just the quickest way." Finished Farkas.

Hern sighed. _"Good people, but stealthy they are not. Thank good-"_ Hern stopped mid-thought, catching a scent, face scrunching up as if trying to decipher some puzzle, confusing his friends.

"What is it Hern? Trouble?" Asked Aela.

A look of 'oh crap' appeared on Hern's face, but was soon replaced by one of self-blame. "One moment."

His friends looking on, Hern went back the way he came until he stopped in front of a bush, reached down, and his arm came back up with a scared girl near Blaise's and Lucia's age.

The four members of the Circle were surprised at the sight, and unsure of what to do. Although in most cases they would show no hesitation in fighting, going after children was not something they did.

Hern brought the girl over, still carrying her, and set her down in the middle of the group.

"Hey Harb-I mean Hern. What's with the kid?" asked Farkas. The other members all plainly had the same question.

Hern was scratching his head, and brought his hand down over his face in frustration. "This, is Arya. One of Ned Stark's kids that I've been mentoring the last few weeks." Hern then muttered, while glaring at the four Companions, "And I was a bit distracted because someone decided it was a good idea to fucking howl in the middle of the damned night."

Aela immediately hung her head, having had been the perpetrator after being cooped up on the Iron Islands for so long. Not enough room there to transform.

Looking back down to his student, Hern knew this wouldn't just go away. "Oh stand up Arya. They won't bite. If anything, these four are a bunch of pampered hounds than monsters."

The girl slowly got up, unsure of what would happen, and quite pale.

"Arya, meet the Circle of the Companions. Good people, but unlike you, they have no knack for being stealthy. The redhead with the tattoos on her face is Aela the Huntress. One of the best archers in all of Tamriel," introduced Hern, as the redhead bowed.

"Next to her is Lydia. She used to be my Housecarl, or a bodyguard if you will, until I gave her leave to join the Companions a couple years ago."

Lydia bowed.

"The guy there, is Vilkas. One of the few in the Companions that I know can read, and is quite intelligent, despite being in a guild dedicated to bashing each other's and other people's heads in."

Vilkas bowed.

"And the jolly giant next to Vilkas is Farkas. He's no fool either, but do not underestimate him in battle. The guy really packs a punch. He and Vilkas are twins, and have been in the Companions since they were children."

Farkas bowed.

Hern looked down, and saw that Arya was still quite pale and tense. "You have nothing to fear from these four. In fact, they're some of my oldest friends from Skyrim."

Arya finally mustered the courage to ask, "W-what are they?"

Hern groaned. He had hoped it had been dark enough, but apparently not. "They're known as 'werewolves'. People that can turn into creatures that are part human, part wolf. But do not fret, because they are well within their own minds when they transform. Though that seems to have been the problem tonight. Aela got a little too happy being back in her form."

A sudden realization hit Arya. Turning to her mentor, she practically yelled, "Does that mean you're a werewolf too!?"

"Aye. And the 'leader' of the Companions. Though I prefer to think of it as a 'first among equals' sort of thing," Hern answered. "However Arya, I need you to promise something."

Arya, still unsure of her situation, simply looked at Hern.

"I need you to promise not to tell _anyone_ about this ability of ours. You siblings, your mother, even your father. As I'm sure you're quite well aware, this transformation is not exactly and cute and cuddly one," said Hern.

Arya nodded, if feeling a bit more at ease. One last thing still poking at her. "O-okay. But, what was that when you jumped from the wall? You looked like a ghost!"

Hern immediately slapped his head. "By the Nine and Oblivion! You saw _that_ too?"

The Stark nodded, feeling she actually might be in trouble.

"Dammit. Now Serana really WILL kill me!" Exclaimed the Nord.

The Companions also looked rather uncomfortable. Hern keeping his secret as Dragonborn in these lands was much like theirs for their secret of lycanthropy. Even amongst the Tamrielans that had come with them, very few associated Hern the reclusive Nord with the great warrior Dragonborn.

Hern looked at The Companions. "Should I tell her? She already knows about _this_ secret."

The four left it up to their fearless leader, in those words. Which earned a scowl from Hern and a bit of chuckling from the Circle.

"May as well. Though hard to tell at this point which one is worth more, so to speak," Admitted Hern. Taking a baited breath, Hern confessed. "Well Arya, what you saw was one of my abilities as the Dragonborn."

Shock once again hit Arya's face, but was quickly replaced by confusion. "I thought you said the Dragonborn vanished from the public?"

Sighing, Hern admitted to it. "Aye, I did. I had done what I set out to do, rid the world of a dragon that would have destroyed it. Amongst other such quests. Though I still stand by my claim that the mudcrab in that house was joke by some idiot! I was able to live a quiet, peaceful life for three years with my family. Outside of them, and the Companions here, very few others know about it. And since getting a hold of some of Westeros' history since being here in Winterfell, I would greatly appreciate it if you told no one. I know the dogma of being associated with dragons would bring with it here."

Taking a deep breath, Arya agreed. "I will. But Hern, may I ask you a favor?"

Raising an eyebrow, "What would that be?"

"I want to be a werewolf."

"No."

The quick response stunned Arya visibly. "Why not?"

"For one, your father would probably want my head. Quite literally. Second, you are too young for such a thing. Even Blaise and Lucia have to wait until they're of age before I would even consider it. Finally, not all of the Companions are like us. Just the Circle, the leadership of the Companions, are werewolves," finished Hern rather sternly. _"And Serana would probably want my head too, for that matter."_

Arya hung her head in disappointment, seemingly forgetting that she was surrounded by werewolves.

"I have to admit, you're taking this better than your father," muttered Hern. Just a little too loudly.

Head up and eyebrows furrowed, Arya yelled, "I thought you said not to tell anyone!?"

Hern flinched and mentally cursed himself. "Damn my big mouth. Your father knows about my being the Dragonborn. But not the werewolf part. Though I think he's still getting over the shock he's been housing a dragon slayer," Hern said off-handedly. "But I would still ask that you not tell anyone about this. Okay?"

"I swear, on my honor as a Stark that I won't," Arya responded fiercely.

The members of the circle all chuckled.

"This one would definitely make a good Companion in the future Hern. She already has the spirit of one!" exclaimed Farkas proudly.

"Funny you should say that Farkas. She and her brother could probably give you and Vilkas a run for your money. She's getting pretty good with a sword, and her brother can pop a bird in the eye from a hundred paces," jested Hern.

The talk continued like this for a time, until Arya felt the tiredness take over her and almost fell asleep standing up.

Catching the girl before she fell, Hern righted her. "I guess we should be getting back. You four, come tomorrow afternoon to the castle gates. We'll make plans and leave the following morning. For now, I need to get Arya back in Winterfell before her family finds out she's gone."

The Companions nodded, and the two groups went their separate ways for the night. Hern was able to get Arya back to her room before anyone was alerted to her missing and went back to his own room.

Closing the door to his room quietly, Hern heard a very familiar voice. "So which of the mutts couldn't control themselves this time?"

Turning to his wife who was sitting up in bed, Hern had a small, but happy smile. "Aela. They got here a little early, but they'll be coming by tomorrow for the 'official' meeting." Taking a moment to stretch his arms a little, Hern continued, "Though a bit of sleep certainly won't hurt tonight."

Hern got into bed and under the covers, but was quickly pulled up by the ear.

"Okay, you can't hide it from me that easily Hern. Something else happened else you wouldn't have glossed over the meeting so much," scolded Serana.

"Well, Arya may or may not have accidentally found out…"

"You _really_ should learn to listen to your own lessons sometimes, you furry dragon," muttered Serana.

Giving a nervous laugh, Hern replied, "Well, I guess those are more of a 'do as I say, not as I do' kind of things?"

"I don't know what you're going to do without me to watch you every five minutes in King's Landing. You better be careful down there," Serana muttered, rolling her eyes.

Smirking, Hern replied, "I'm always careful."

"By 'careful' you mean incredibly reckless. Especially that one time when you rushed into that coven of vampires, remember?"

"Yeah, thanks for reminding me. I never knew people, vampires included, were into that kind of thing. And I _still_ say that no one in their right mind would do _that_ ," muttered a slightly disgruntled and disgusted Hern. "But I really could use the rest tonight, okay? I did spend most of the day at the forge."

Sighing, Serana relented. She had seen what Hern had brought in after he finished his work. And when Hern crafted custom weapons, he worked hard on them. But they turned out the lights and slept what was left of the night away.

 **Arya**

Arya woke up the next morning, suddenly remembering what had happened the night before. Shock, awe, wonderment, and fear all floated around in her. _"Hern's the Dragonborn? And a, what did he call it, a werewolf? Just what is going on here!?"_ Despite her questions, she remembered her oath of never revealing his secrets. She had seen some desperation in Hern's eyes when he had asked.

A knocking came at the door.

"Lady Arya? Time to get up!"

Arya groaned. Despite being awake, she still felt tired from the night before. And then she realized it was Hern's last day in Winterfell.

Rushing, she quickly got ready and dashed out her door. Running to the main hall she found Brann holding a bow. And a bow unlike any other she had ever seen. For one, it looked to be made of a golden-green color. The design was as intricate as most knight armors were, yet it did not look gaudy as many did. Needless to say, Arya was transfixed by it.

"Oh, there you are!"

Turning around, she saw Hern standing in a blind spot of the staircase, holding something wrapped in cloth. "Hern?"

"Here. Your brother was up first so he already got his bow. This is yours though," Hern said as he handed her the cloth wrapped object.

Looking at it, all she could tell was that it was long, but light. "This is for me? Why?"

"Open it first and give it a test," was all the Nord would say.

Warily unwrapping the package, unsure of what to expect, Arya unveiled a sleek saber. Grabbing the handle, she found it a near perfect fit for her hand.

"Go on, give it a few swings, see how it fits," encouraged Hern.

Arya did so, and the sword, she found was light as a feather, if a little long, she had no problems.

"So, how does the saber feel?"

"I-it's perfect," Arya quietly said. Looking back up to the Nord, tearing her gaze from the exquisite sword, "But I've never used this kind of sword before, and you're supposed to be leaving soon."

"That's where Ardainne comes in. Truth be told, the saber is one of the few weapons I've never been able to get a handle on. Ardainne though, she has quite a bit of experience. It's a little different from what I've been teaching, but the basics are the same."

"Hern? What about my bow?" asked Brann.

"Don't you worry. The draw on it is a bit more than what you're used to, but once you can pull it back, it will punch through near any armor. Legate Fasendil is no slacker when it comes to archery. He can help you, should you ask," Hern told the young Stark. "That said, just because I'm not here, doesn't mean you two slack in your training. Lucia and Blaise will make sure of that when they have spare time. And treat your weapons well. If you do, they'll treat you well in return," finished the Nord.

The two looked back at their new weapons, already looking forward to testing them.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11. New Facts

 **The Pyke, Iron Islands**

General Tullius was visiting one of the newer built buildings in Lordsport, the largest town in the province. One that he made sure to check in on every so often. It was a cozy Inn, and thanks to the now expanding trade, had quite the number of patrons. But it was who ran it that Tullius would visit. Partly out of respect to a friend and partly for the unmatched cooking. As well as deliver letters addressed to her. He wasn't alone, as several soldiers had accompanied him there, but that was more for tradition than anything.

At the moment, Tullius was feasting on some beef stew, courtesy of Rohki and Duraac. The two ran one of the most successful businesses in the Iron Islands, in part due to their location as well as the food and services.

"General, is there anything else we can get you?"

Looking up from his food, Tullius saw the origins of the voice. A tall Nord woman who shared a great many features with her brother, aside from hair and eye color.

"I'm good, thank you though Rohki. I see business is as busy as ever," responded Tullius.

"It is! It was a little slow when we first started, but now we can barely keep up! Not a bad situation to be in." Responded the woman happily.

"That's good. Has anyone been giving you two trouble though? Other than the occasional drunken fight of course." The General had learned that Nords don't mind a good fight every so often, so long as their inns weren't destroyed. In fact, he had seen Rohki take bets on several fights.

"At first, people were a little put off by Duraac. But once they learned how much a softie he is, they come as much for the food as to meet the 'gentle green giant', as the little ones call him," the woman replied with a small laugh.

Tullius nodded. It was true. The Orc, even by Orc standards, was quite large. And in height, was only topped by Altmer, and looked as strong as a dremora. But his gentle disposition belied the standard Orc. Not to mention, one of the friendliest people, Orsimer or not, Tullius had ever come across.

"Well, I'm glad. The last thing I want to do is send bad news to your brother," joked Tullius.

At that moment, a cloaked figure came and sat at the table with Tullius, immediately giving the man a bad feeling. Rohki also was a bit put off.

"General, is this a friend of yours?" asked the confused Inn owner.

"Friend? No. But I have a feeling who, or at least, what this person is," responded Tullius. Now directing his attention to the newcomer, "And that would be the Observer sent by our Westrosi friends."

The figure smiled and pulled down his hood, revealing a middle-aged man with black eyes, sharp nose, and thin eyebrows. "Right you are General. My name is Oberyn Martell, of House Martell in Dorne."

This took Rohki and Tullius by surprise. "Rohki, perhaps you should see if anyone else needs anything, this man and I have much to talk about," Tullius said, excusing the Inn owner.

After she left, Tullius got down to business. "Why would the King or Small Council send a member of House Dorne Lord Martell? From what we know, your House has distanced itself from the politics of King's Landing."

The man smiled. "You are quite well informed General. But I was asked to do this as a more, neutral party. You see, the King does little in King's Landing. So the Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, essentially rules in his stead. So Lord Hand asked me to do this for him. As nearly everyone else would be biased. I personally do not care much about The Pyke as a province. Too far North and far away from Dorne."

Tullius knew truth when he heard it, but felt something was slightly off about the man. A different reason for being there. "I honestly didn't expect to run into the Observer so quickly, Lord Martell. And why, exactly, would you not be biased compared to any other?"

Oberyn smirked. "Unlike many of my counterparts, I have traveled outside of Westeros before. I was even a mercenary for a time. So I'm more familiar with customs outside of Westeros than most. Finally, I have nothing to lose by this. But I do get a chance to see a new people, which I must say, are quite interesting."

Tullius observed Oberyn. It was true, the man was more relaxed than most others had been upon first meeting those from Tamriel. Most walked with a sense of fear around them, or disdain when learning of their culture. Oberyn, while certainly more relaxed, looked more cautious than anything. Something learned through experience, rather than ignorance.

"Somehow, Lord Martell, I feel like you did not come alone," said Tullius before sipping some wine. The man was too confident to be so without some sort of backup.

"You're right. They should be coming in here any moment. They wanted to see what the Iron Islands are like."

Sure enough, the door opened and in came several girls of varying age, accompanied by an older woman. But what surprised Tullius was that they were all armed and looked like they actually could wield their assortment of weapons.

"You look shocked General. But most are when they meet my family. Some of them at any rate," chuckled Oberyn.

"Your family? I'm surprised. Most here I've come across hold women wielding weapons with disdain, Lord Martell. Other than Lady Greyjoy, we haven't seen many, if any, women openly wield weapons," responded Tullius.

"Things are different in Dorne. Especially for my daughters, who are also bastards." Oberyn slipped in to see what Tullius would do. But much to Martell's surprise, Tullius only gave a nod of approval.

"It's good to know that not everyone here is backwards in their thinking. Many were surprised that nearly half of our forces are women. And my second in command is also a woman, which chaffed a few fools, until Legate Rikke put them in their place herself," approved Tullius.

Eyes widening in surprised, but also in respect, Oberyn was getting curious now.

"So did you train your daughters yourself?" Asked Tullius, genuinely curious.

"A bit, but I also let them train on their own, develop their own styles, as they can only learn so much from me." responded Martell.

Tullius chuckled. "You sound a lot like the Ambassador himself. He trains his own kids as well, though right now they're in Winterfell."

Raising an eyebrow, Oberyn responded, "He has children of his own? I was not aware."

"Oh yes, two of them. Used to be orphans of the Civil War a few years back until the Ambassador took them in. He also trains them in a large variety of weapons, so that they're always prepared in case he or his wife cannot be there for them."

Oberyn hadn't thought he would meet a Lord like that. One who would take in children, not even his own blood, and treat them as his own. His interest was piqued, to say the least. "General, what else can you tell me about him? He sounds like an interesting Lord."

Tullius laughed. "Oh, if you ever meet him, I wouldn't call him 'Lord'. He doesn't care for such formalities. Took him a couple of years to even call me 'General'. But I'll tell you what I can. In some ways, you remind me of him." And to himself, Tullius thought, _"And why do I get the feeling 'Observer' is far from your actual goals, Martell?"_

 **King's Landing**

It had been a couple of weeks since Jon Arryn sent the summoning letter to the Ambassador. The surprise had been when they received a reply shortly after that he would be in King's Landing as soon as he could. Jon Arryn was just hoping things would go according to plan. If not, there was the backup plan, one he did not relish in thinking on.

Walking down the corridor of the Red Keep, Jon was mulling over these thoughts, as he had been since first planning them weeks before with the Small Council and approval from Robert. It was bad enough the country was in debt, but an Empire powerful enough to send thousands of troops across the sea was the last thing Westeros needed.

"Ah, Lord Hand. There you are."

Jon paused and turned to see the Imp, Tyrion Lannister. The man was a dwarf, but had a sharp mind, as Jon had found out. And unlike his siblings, was not so high and mighty, if still a bit arrogant. But Jon found him more agreeable than the Queen, though that was not saying much.

"Lord Tyrion. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Flashing a smile, Tyrion responded, "Oh, just curious to see what these new people from across the Shining Sea are like. I've heard rumors of grumpkins and snarks in their number."

Sighing, Jon shrugged. He had heard similar rumors as well. That there were strange creatures that walked and acted like men amongst these Tamrielans. Far too many rumors of strange creatures and beings that looked like men, but had long and pointed ears. Some short, some quite tall, and some with ash colored skin. If not for so many reports, Jon would have dismissed such stories as drunken fantasies.

"I have heard similar reports. Far too many to just brush off, Lord Tyrion. All we can do is-" Before Jon Arryn could finish speaking, a servant came rushing towards the two.

"My Lord Hand! Lord Hand! A strange ship has just pulled into the harbor!"

This caught both Jon and Tyrion by surprise. They had expected an arrival by land, not sea. Meaning that the Ambassador had arrived rather early. The two lords looked at each other questioningly, until Tyrion cracked a smile.

"It seems for someone who has only been in King's Landing for a few minutes, he knows how to play the Game. He's already caught us with our pants down!"

Jon grumbled to himself. "It seems I must collect the Small Council and King to meet him in the Main Hall and provide an escort." Turning back to the servant, "What banners was the ship flying?"

The servant, catching his breath replied, "One is a golden banner with a horse's head over hills. The other one though, is black with a diamond. In the diamond my Lord, is a dragon."

 _"A dragon? At least it is not a three-headed dragon in a circle. Still, a dragon…"_

Jon Arryn went down the hall to collect the members of the Small Council and the King, while Tyrion followed, intrigued by what this newcomer may do.

 **The Jorrvaskr**

"What in all the realms of Oblivion and Aetherius is that Gods awful stench!?" Hern bellowed covering his nose. They were approaching King's Landing, when a breeze from the city had swept over the large ship. And Hern wasn't the only one suffering.

The other four members of the Circle were in similar states. Aela was leaning over the side of the ship, losing her lunch from an hour before, Lydia looked like she was about to join Aela, while Vilkas and Farkas were doing their best to not gag on the stench. Even the non-Circle people on the ship hadn't smelled something so foul.

"I'm surprised you're taking this better than the other Companions Hern."

Hern turned towards the voice, a middle-aged woman who happened to be in charge of the Blades, Delphine. "I've been in plenty of crypts and such before, so I'm more used to foul odors then they are. But this? It smells like these people roll in their filth! And this is supposed to be the capital of Westeros? Even the Imperial Capital isn't this bad!"

"Hopefully you'll get used to it. Who knows how long we will be here, Ambassador. So we must be prepared to remain for a while," responded the Head of the Blades.

"Doesn't mean I have to like it. And it will take some time to get used to it," responded Hern grumpily.

For once, Delphine was glad her nose wasn't on par with Hern's nose. The smell was bad enough as it was without a sniffer like his. Though she imagined it came in use in many other things.

As the ship grew closer, the people aboard the _Jorrvaskr_ took in the sight of King's Landing, without trying to gag on the smell. It was indeed a large city, much like the Imperial Capitol itself. However, where the Imperial Capitol was sorted and organized despite the size, this city seemed to have sprung up here and there. Brothels on every other street it seemed.

Coming into port, the crew found an escort of a hundred gold cloaked guards waiting for them, with a couple of people in white cloaks as well.

"Delphine, think those in the white cloaks are the King's Guard?" Hern asked absently.

"I don't know of any other order that wears them, particularly here in the capitol," responded Delphine.

Hern was silent for a moment. And then a moment longer. Then Delphine gave the back of his head a slap.

"Ow! Sorry!"

"Serana is right. You need to focus."

"Well, what better way than someone who used to protect the Emperor?"

Delphine gave Hern a cross look.

"Okay, damn. My apologies. Well, give the order for the men to be ready to depart. And tell them not to start anything. But if attacked, they can defend themselves to their fullest," Hern grimly ordered.

Delphine nodded and began relaying the orders. Despite Hern sometimes getting lost in thought, she knew he was quite capable when the time came for it. And when he had made her meet with Paarthurnax, unarmed… Well, she had made him pay her back. But after that, she and the Blades devoted themselves to keeping the Dragonborn safe again, along with his family.

Hern ducked into his cabin while the ship was making final adjustments for docking. When he came back out, Delphine had to give him credit for going all out. He came out in his Dragonscale Armor (without the mouth guard), his Imperial Cape, and his dragonbone battle axe.

"You look ready for battle. And it's been awhile since you've worn all of that together," commented Lydia.

"Well, I figured we may as well look our best for this city of stench. That said, I want you and the other Circle members in your Wolf Armor. And have everyone else in theirs. Show them what _real_ soldiers and warriors look like," Hern said with a confident grin.

Lydia bowed and spread the word to the others. One by one, the Companions, as well as the rest, emerged from the ship covered in their armor. Well taken care of, polished, and no sign of rust.

Delphine came back and reported that everything was set and the gangplank was ready for them to leave on. Hern then led the way.

Hern was in front, and, beginning in twos, but stretching out to rows of five, Hern's forces disembarked, except for the crewmen and Imperial guards stationed to the ship. Right behind Hern were the Circle of the Companions. Behind them, ten Blades led by Delphine, their slender swords and their lamellar armor. Behind Delphine, ten Dawnguard, in their armor, hand axes at their sides, war hammers on their backs, led by Isran. Behind the Dawnguard, five non-descript servants of Hern's. Bringing up the rear, twenty Imperial Soldiers lead by Tribune Hadvar, who had been promoted for his deeds during and since the Civil War.

All in all, the procession made quite the impression. With horses the ship had waiting for Hern and his officers, the people on the docks opened clear pathways for the armed and armored host.

When Hern got to the escort he observed them, particularly the Kingsguard. One was an older man with white hair, but still looked quite capable. It wouldn't be the first time that Hern had encountered old timers that could fight. The younger man looked to be in his prime, with blonde hair not unlike some of the Nords Hern had, but shorter.

The older man spoke up. "You must be Ambassador Hern? I am Ser Barriston Selmy, Captain of the Kingsguard. This is Jaime Lannister, also of the Kingsguard. We and the Citywatch here shall be your escort to the Red Keep."

"Aye. I'm the Ambassador. I hope we're not too early? And if I may ask, without sounding rude, what in Oblivion is that horrible stench?" Hern asked honestly. Behind him, several others nodded in agreement.

Jaime laughed. "As my brother would say, 'King's Landing smells like piss, shit, and cum.' A fair assessment if I do say so."

"I see. That certainly explains that. And I take it you get used to it?" asked Hern, not entirely serious.

"Overtime, you come to ignore it, after a fashion," sighed the Lannister.

 _"Well, this is going to be annoying for a while then,"_ thought Hern. "Well gentlemen," Hern said, being careful not to earn the wrath of Delphine, "shall we get on to the Red Keep?"

The two Kingsguard members nodded, and led the way, with the Goldcloaks falling in line beside the force Hern had brought. But in comparison, it was painfully obvious who was actually ready for battle, and who would win in one between the two. The Goldcloaks didn't have the numbers to turn the tide.

As Hern was led through the city, and tried to keep his mind off the stench, he took in the sights. Or rather, the lack thereof. Sure, there were a few structures of note, but the rest of the city was simply a mess in design. Slums and filth everywhere. The Imperials back in the Capitol would have had a fit. There were literally dozens of city planners who made sure that the Capitol would not become such a mess. It was a hubbub of buildings and slums. _"Scratch the fit, they would have heart attacks."_

When they made it to the Red Keep, Hern had to give the builders of it some credit, it was a spectacle. The Keep was massive in size, and would probably be a nightmare to take without inside help in the event of a siege. Hern just hoped it would not come to that. But his thoughts were soon interrupted.

"Ambassador, if I may?" Began Jaime.

"Go ahead."

"What is your armor made of? I have never seen the like of it before."

Giving a half smile Hern replied, "A very special material that is very hard to collect and use. More than that will be revealed in due time. Anything else?"

"I am wondering if you are any good with that axe of yours. It looks like a pretty vicious weapon compared to others."

"I think I'm adequate enough with it. It has saved my hide more than I care to count."

Jaime nodded and considered the answer for a while. Seeing if there was a hidden meaning to Hern's words. To Hern though, it had been the simple truth. The axe had gotten him out of trouble far too many times, and helped him ensure victory several times.

As for the Lannister leading Hern, the man seemed a bit aloof. But Hern had dealt with worse. The older Kingsguard had acted professional from the moment Hern had seen him. A soldier through and through that would most likely have made a high ranking officer of the Imperial Army by now. Not a backroom one, considering his position, but one that would prefer to lead. Probably a man to keep an eye on.

Dismounting from their horses, and Hern and his officers following suit, they made their way up the steps.

"Lord Ambassador," began Jaime.

"Please, no 'Lord'. Never been one for formalities. I have enough with just 'Ambassador'," informed Hern.

Jaime shrugged. "Very well Ambassador. Welcome to the Red Keep. The King and the Small Council should be waiting for you inside."

"And we'll be right behind you," finished Selmy.

Hern nodded, expecting nothing less. It was their job to do so and would not begrudge them. Though if they tried anything, it would not go well. Hern and his guards were let into the main hall, with Hern somewhat eager to see this Royal Family and the Small Council…

 **Winterfell**

It had been a couple weeks since Hern departed, and for the first time since he had gone to Sovengarde itself to battle Alduin a little over three years ago, Serana was separated from him. True, she had Blaise and Lucia with her, and their magic training took up a fair amount of time, but she still missed him. Though at the moment, her mind was elsewhere as she had her head stuck in a bucket with Colette the Healing Mage patting her on the back.

"How long has this been going on Serana? The ship was one thing, more than a few people lost their lunch. But this? I thought your 'kind' had an immunity to disease?"

Pulling her head out of the bucket long enough to speak, "Not an immunity, just very resista-." She stuck her head back in the bucket, losing a bit more food.

Colette was stumped though. She had tried Cure Poison, Health Potions, even a vial of blood that was kept for emergencies. But nothing had helped Serana. Was Colette aware of Serana's position as a Vampire? Oh yes. Very hard for an experienced Restoration Mage NOT to notice. If not for Hern being there when the two first met, Colette would have used a number of Restoration spells designed for the undead. Now? Now Serana was a friend. And it was nice to know that not all Vampires would try and suck her blood on first sight.

Colette was thinking to herself. _"It's not a poison. Being a Vampire gives her an immunity, not to mention the Cure Poison I gave her. Disease? Not likely. But sickness like this on a… Wait."_

"Serana, did you and Hern have any relations when we first got here?"

"W-why do you ask?" Serana asked, heaving.

"You may be with child."

When Serana's head came up, Colette could have sworn it was paler than normal.

"Are you serious? I didn't think it possible for, my kind, to be got with child!"

Colette thought for a moment. "There was one case, supposedly, about two hundred years ago. But that is more rumor than anything concrete. Though from everything I have seen, from you especially Serana, I would say that you're more like Hern than a draugr or anything of that sort."

Serana was taken completely aback by this. It certainly was not something she had been expecting. She was happy being Blaise's and Lucia's mother, as she had never thought she could conceive on her own. She was-

Colette rubbed Serana's back again as her head went back into the bucket, trying to comfort the Vampire. But she couldn't help but wonder how this would work. It would be interesting to see how a Vampire carried to term. If it was the same as a regular human, or if something else happened. But she would help Serana. It would be hitting two birds with one stone.

"Well Serana. I think Hern will be very surprised to hear of this once we send word. Now just take it easy and don't push yourself. I don't want to have to explain to your husband how you overdid it while carrying a child," Colette said as comfortingly as she could.

The only response she got was Serana emptying the contents of her stomach again.

 **King's Landing**

 _"Well, people did say the king here let himself go, but damn!"_ Hern could hardly believe that 'King' of Westeros, once a man of great renown as a warrior, was now a fat, drunken, slob.

"So you're this Am-fatass-dour that I've heard tell about. A tall one, aren't you."

Hern could only groan internally. He could smell the alcohol on the man from where he stood. And unless Hern was mistaken, he could smell the scent of several women on the man. He had actually managed to catch the King with his pants down. _"To think I had only meant that metaphorically."_

"Er, yes. I would be the Ambassador of the Tamrielic Empire. I'm here to discuss what should be done about the Iron Islands, or The Pyke. However you refer to it," explain Hern.

"And why shouldn't we just execute you?"

Hern raised his eyebrow at the woman who had just said that. Blond woman, who would look rather attractive if not for the sneer on her face. "Because that would actually start a war. And I guarantee if you tried to arrest me now for that, neither my forces nor I, would go down so easily."

"Is that a-" Before the Queen could finish, she was interrupted.

"Silence woman! Let me think!" Bellowed the King.

Hern was, quite surprised. He had heard that their relationship was less than ideal, but this much?

"Look. If you are worried about us trying to annex The Pyke, don't be. Balon Greyjoy attacked us. You received my letters on the subject. And I have every intention of making sure his eldest takes over for him," Hern said as calmly as he could.

The man next to the king, an older one, then spoke up. "We have come to, an arrangement, Lord Ambassador. In order to clear your name as quickly and cleanly as possible, we would invoke a Trial by Combat."

Hern paused. "… Come again?"

"Sorry. But one of our customs for such matters is Trial by Combat. Where either you, or a representative of yours will battle one of our knights. Should you win, the matter of you invading The Pyke will be excused as if it never happened. Should you die, then I would hope to-"

"Stop. I think I see where this is going." Hern folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes for a moment. "You hope I get killed or, at least, disheartened by losing one of mine one of these 'Trials by Combat' and hope I leave or my forces leave."

Hern shook his head. "And considering it took weeks, rather than days, to receive a reply, I assume you brought in a number of capable fighters to take me on."

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. The Small Council, having introduced themselves and the Royal Family, after Hern and his guard made their entrance, had quickly gotten down to business. But now, most were quite tense, not expecting such an intimidating force, despite their own guards outnumbering them nearly three to one.

Hern smiled. An almost wicked and cruel smile. "I feel honored. All you had to do was tell me that. Just tell me when and where. I'll be there," he said coldly.

Some of those in court were a little unnerved. Others though..

"Bwah ha! A man who doesn't run from a challenge! If you survive this, we'll have to talk!" The King guffawed.

The Hand then began explaining. "In one week's time, we will meet back here. Either you or someone you choose may fight a champion or our choice."

Hern shrugged. "If he yields, I'll let him live. Never liked killing if I could avoid it."

"Lord Ambassador, the rules clearly state-!" Jon Arryn tried again.

"I said what I said. If whomever fights me yields, I'll spare them. It is a shame for such a waste of a loyal soldier. If you're worried about me, don't be. I'll only hold it to the man I face," finished Hern, waving the complaints off.

The Hand was concerned. Despite agreeing to this, he hadn't wanted it to be the Ambassador himself. "Are you sure about this? Surely one of your guards would be willing?"

Hern snorted. "Ha! Most of them are already too eager to prove themselves better than the rabble you call 'guards'! But most aren't as merciful as I am. I will gladly fight your best if that is all that is needed to clear up this mess. If I win, everything is cleared up and I can get down to business. If I lose, then I go to Sovengarde and feast with some old friends! Either way is a win for me."

"Not only an invader, but a heretic too! Guards! Arr-!"

SMACK!

Hern was visibly stunned. The king had just slapped his wife, rather hard, stunning the whole room. Particularly Hern and his guards.

"I told you to be quiet! Now leave woman!" The King bellowed.

 _"Yeah she was getting on my nerves, but that seemed a bit out of line."_ Hern didn't like it, but had resigned himself to play by their rules, to a point. Then he caught the Queen's look at him just before leaving. _"Well shit. I didn't even do anything to her and she's probably thinking of making trouble for me. Just like that one time when Olfina Grey-Mane thought I had stolen her undergarments when she had a bit too much to drink that one night. She had left them at the tavern! Just because I was in the wrong place at the… Oh. Great."_

"I didn't realize that the beliefs of my people would be an issue," stated Hern after Cersei had left.

The Hand sighed. "They really shouldn't be. So long as ours are recognized as well."

"Fair enough." Agreed Hern. "So a week's time to prepare and possibly gather a crowd in? Very well. In the meantime, I ask that none of the guards here try and start anything with any of my guards. In return, they won't start anything either. Do we have a deal Ar- Lord Hand?" Hern finished, just catching himself.

Arryn looked at the King who nodded back.

"It shall be done. So long as they stay out of trouble, there shouldn't be a problem. But if you do not mind, perhaps we could talk afterward this meeting? I have a few things to discuss with you."

"Aye. That'll be fine."

"Then the meeting is now over!" Declared the Hand.

The people in attendance began filtering out, though Arryn, Hern, and Hern's guards remained.

"If I may ask, where are my guard to stay? They could stay on the ship, if nothing else is available." Asked Hern.

"We do have some barrack space available. I trust sharing quarters won't be a problem for them?"

Hern turned to his 'guards'. "Think you can stay together without causing too much fuss?"

"Yes sir!"

Hern turned back smiling, "You heard them."

The Hand had some Goldcloaks escort the majority of the Hern's guards away, other than the four in armor styled after wolves.

"Wouldn't they wish to as well?" Arryn asked, indicating towards the four remaining guards.

"We'll be fine Lord Hand," said Lydia, "we can look after ourselves."

Hern thought to himself, _"Well, that's one way to tell The Hand that these four have no need for sleep, nor do I for that matter, and without telling him. A pretty handy trait in this place if half the things I've heard is true."_

"Very well. I suppose all four of you will wish to accompany us?"

Hern gave a genuine smile. "I trust these four quite a bit. Anything you wish to say to me can be said to them."

Jon nodded. He figured if this Ambassador had people he trusted so much, he couldn't be too bad to deal with. Hopefully. Still though, he had found Hern, unorthodox. Far blunter than what Arryn was used to, that was for sure. It was almost refreshing.

The two then began walking through the corridors, towards the rooms Hern would be staying in. "I apologize that we sprung this on you Ambassador. But it was the only agreement we could come to."

Hern laughed, catching Jon Arryn by surprise. "If I held a grudge against everyone who tried to kill me, there would be a lot more dead people out there! Hell, these four following have tried to during training sessions!"

The Hand turned to look at the four following them, concern on his face, and the four Companions smiled and waved back. Well, Lydia did. The others simply looked on.

"Very well. Though if I may, what brought you to visit with Ned Stark?" asked Jon, trying to change the subject.

"I had heard that he and your king are on good terms. I figured if I could gain his trust, he could be a mediator. Though sticking around there for as long as I did wasn't planned. But he has some good children," responded Hern.

Jon paused. "You met with his family?"

"Yes. Actually I began training two of his younger children in weapons. Right now, they should be training with my own," Hern responded casually.

Jon snapped out of his surprise. "You have children old enough to learn weapons? I was under the impression you were quite young!"

"Only in my middle twenties. But yes, I have two. I found them as orphans during the Civil War in Skyrim a few years back. I took them in and have cared for them as my own ever since."

Jon nodded. A man who is not afraid to fight to the death, but also takes in war orphans? Not to mention leading an expeditionary force half way around the world? A complicated man.

"An admirable trait, to take in children with no home." Jon replied.

"Okay, stop playing around and ask what you want to ask."

Jon turned towards Hern, once again taken aback by the bluntness of the man. Sighing, realizing he would only aggravate the man if he tried to dance around the topic, Jon explained. "I have heard you had children. Depending on what happens during the Trial by Combat, some Lords may try and arrange a marriage or two to secure alliances."

"That will not happen."

"Ambassador plea-."

"No, Hand." Hern was glaring daggers at Jon, as if he had suggested it himself. "My children, as are all of Tamriel's children, are free to wed whom they wish. If your 'Lords' here can't be civilized about making alliances, they may end up with the daggers of many a furious father and mother in their chests." Hern finished, venomously.

Jon Arryn was taken aback by how adamant the man was against arranged marriages. Something that was quite common amongst the nobility in Westeros.

"My apologies. I did not mean to offend Ambassador. Merely to warn you about such circumstances. Some may even try to proposition you before the Trial," explained the Hand.

Hern closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "No, I'm the one who overreacted. I can get a little, over protective, of my family."

The two heard some snorts behind them, to which Hern rolled his eyes. "Okay, I can be extremely protective of my family."

Jon Arryn thought it was an odd, yet interesting relationship between this Hern and his guards. Though they clearly answered to him, he did not berate them for things like that.

"Ah. Here are your chambers Ambassador. If you need me, I can be found in the Tower of the Hand. Any servant here can direct or guide you there if you need my services," the Hand said as he excused himself.

Finally, alone, the five went into the chambers. Hern took his helmet off and laid it on a nearby stand. The Circle did the same with theirs.

"Well, at least that Gods awful stench isn't as bad in here," muttered Hearn.

"That aside, I think you have already made an impact on the people here," commented Vilkas.

Hern raised an eyebrow.

"What I mean, is that you showed those cowards that you're not afraid of some little one on one battle, you plow through their bullshit, and you don't like to dance around the subject at hand, be it either you or someone else talking to you. From the looks of things, they prefer more covert approaches," Vilkas finished.

Lydia chimed in, "But you must remember to control your temper better. I have a feeling if it were almost anyone other than Lord Arryn, it would not have gone well."

Hern sighed. This was why he had stayed out of politics and refused any and all actual appointments to nobility that he had been offered. He had accepted Thane, as it required him to do little else other than help someone every so often and gave him a bit more leeway than normal. "You're both have good points. We are certainly not in Tamriel anymore. So everyone, be on your guard, keep your ears open, and your noses in the air."

Hern noticed Aela was deep in thought. "What seems to be troubling you Aela?"

She looked back at them. "The Queen concerns me. Call it instinct or whatever. But something tells me she'll be trouble."

Farkas nodded. "I had the same feeling, about a lot of the people in there actually. But that King? I thought he was a great warrior. He smelled barely sober enough to be sitting on his throne. I think if we have to go through anyone for actual discussions, it will have to be the Hand."

"Aye. To all of it. But I think we may have stumbled into the beginning of something big here. I don't like it, but we don't have much choice. In the meantime, I want only two 'guards' here at any time. The other two of you can go join the others or something, I care not. Just do not get into trouble. But whoever goes, I need them to send the servants here," ordered Hern.

Although he had ordered so, he had not realized it. But his friends did so anyway, used to this. With Vilkas and Lydia hanging back to watch the door while Farkas and Aela went down to the barracks. When the servants came in, Hern had them go about and get familiar with the castle. So they won't get lost.

That night, a knock came at Hern's door as he was reading up on Westeros. "Come in."

A servant with wine came in. "My Lord Ambassador, I have brought wine, courtesy of the Lord Hand himself."

Hern shook his head without looking up. "Really now, isn't it a bit early for an assassin?"

The assassin was surprised only momentarily, dropped the wine, and pulled out a knife, face never changing.

"Tiid."

The next thing the assassin knew, he was on the ground with Hern on top. "Don't take it personal. You're not the first assassin I've had to deal, and I doubt you'll be the last. And honestly, you may look like one of the staff, but your scent wasn't here earlier. And the poison was blatant in the wine. Should probably try to cover that up."

The assassin stopped struggling. "The man does not know what you are speaking of."

"You don't, but I and my friends do. And judging from what I saw, you are most likely a professional assassin. Correct?"

"This man, admits to being so."

"At least you're honest. Tell you what, I let you go, I don't ask about your employer, and you live. How does that sound?" Offered Hern.

"The target is very strange. The target does not wish to kill me?"

"No. Not yet anyway. And had I been almost anyone else, you probably would have been successful."

"The God of Many Faces will wish for a life either way tonight. The target has robbed this man of offering a life to him," the assassin remarked.

 _"Oh no. Another cultist assassin group,"_ thought Hern. The last he had come into contact had nearly gotten him killed. Several times. But something about what the assassin had said seemed almost disturbingly similar.

"The 'God of Many Faces'? Demanding the sacrifice? Tell me, what was the price for this contract, assassin?"

"A dozen wheels of cheese of the finest make," the assassin responded.

Hern groaned, which brought in the Circle, wondering what was wrong.

"Well Mr. Assassin, are you going to tell me anything else?" asked Hern.

The assassin remained silent.

"Farkas, Aela, take him to the dungeons than. Vilkas, Lydia, I'll need some privacy. Keep anyone else out for the night," Hern ordered.

After they left Hern dug out a seemingly nondescript walking staff. "Oh Sheo, we need to talk. I have some nice cheese for you to try!"

The next thing he knew, Hern was no longer in King's Landing.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12. Internal and External Battles

Hern felt himself be pulled into a realm he had been pulled into before. Not one he normally did, but there were some questions that needed to be answered. Especially considering his own positions as head of certain organizations.

There waiting for him, was a table filled to the brim with an assortment of drinks and food. Most of the food being one kind of cheese or another. _"Never understood Sheo's obsession with the stuff. Perhaps an acquired taste?"_ Far be it from Hern to judge a Daedric Prince on eccentricities. Though he could have done without the kind of cheese that changed flavors every bite. The first few hadn't been bad, like chicken, sweet roll, and mead. But after that, things got weird.

Sitting in his throne, was the Daedric Prince of Madness himself, Sheogorath. And all about him were a wide variety of cheeses, as well as several people of varying degrees of madness. Though seated next to the Daedric Prince was a slaughterfish wearing a top hat and a monocle.

"Welcome Dragonborn! Would you like to try the tree cheese?" asked Sheogorath.

Hern did a double take. "The what now?"

"Oh posh! You know? The kind of cheese made out of wood! Fresh splinters every bite!"

"I'll pass this time Sheo. Kind of on a schedule right now," Hern said annoyed, and also a bit put off by the latest creation of Sheo's.

The fish turned to the Mad God. "You really should listen to the Dragonborn sir. It seems he has, what the Westrossi call, a 'Trial by Combat' coming up and would probably wish to prepare for it. I would recommend you hear him out."

Hern couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. A talking fish that sounded the sanest of anyone in this realm? Hern shook his head. _"Only in The Shivering Isles."_

"Oh fine. Such party-poopers the both of you," the Mad God fake whined.

"So, Sheo. What's with the assassins of Westeros and you? I thought Sithis was the one to do assassinations." asked Hern.

"Oh them? Call it a joint venture between us! He gets his souls, I get people who get me more cheese from the mortal realm, and spread a bit of madness as well!"

"And the whole 'Many-Faced God' thing?"

"Do you know how many kinds of madness there are in the world?" asked the Mad God.

"…" Hern gave Sheo a confused look.

"This many!" Sheo spread his hands wide, as wide as they would go in his current form. "Plus, it's a good way to sample the cheeses you mortals keep coming up with! I don't know how you guys do it, but you make better cheese than what any Daedra can do! Plus, so long as Sithis gets his souls, he's as happy as a stick in the mud!"

Hern decided not to question that last part, probably for the better of his own sanity.

"So, some cheese is why you joined up with Sithis?" Hern asked.

"Partly. But what high profile deaths _don't_ cause madness? And the people here are just SO susceptible to it as well! Not that long ago I whacked the last kingy guy in Westeros with a fish, and he's now known as the Mad King! Didn't even have to kill him! Though some brat did it anyway."

 _"Leave it to the Mad God to do something like that."_ Hern may not approve of what the Mad God had done, but there was little he could do about it. So he decided to ask a small favor.

"Sheo, could you do me one favor at least?"

"Mass-produce exploding food for Tamriel and Westeros?"

"What? No!" Hern took a deep breath to calm himself. "Could you _not_ have your guild of assassins interfere with my work for the time being?"

"Hmm. What's in it for me?"

Hern had to think for a moment. The Mad God was unpredictable, but held to his word, in his own way, if nothing else. "Well, if you do, I'll," grimacing, Hern finished, "come to your gatherings more often."

For some reason over the years, the Mad God had taken a personal interest in Hern, and often invited him to parties. If there was one thing Sheo did well, it was making sure that things were never dull at parties.

Beaming at the thought, Sheo shouted, "Deal! Just sign on the line with some twine!" Sheo said as a paper contracted materialized in his hand.

"Could I use a quill and ink instead of twine?"

"Fine."

 **Winterfell**

Thanks to a remedy that Colette had whipped up, Serana's morning sickness was nowhere near as bad as it had been. Though, she still would feel a slight bit of queasiness from time to time. Though the oddest thing of all, her thirst for blood lately had been almost non-existent. Not that she was complaining, as she didn't particularly want to drink the blood of anyone in the castle. And the person who normally offered blood was on the other side of the Seven damned Kingdoms!

Her children though, were quite excited about the prospect of having a new member of the family, and they were betting on which parent the baby would take after most. She'd be lying if she had said she hadn't wondered, as it did present several possibilities.

 _"Will the baby be born a vampire? A werewolf? Normal even? Will they be born like the Septim Dynasty, and start a whole new line of Dragonborn? Will the baby be born as a bit of everything?!"_ She was nervous at the outcome, but knew she and Hern would care for the baby and help the baby learn to control their powers, no matter what.

She watched as Lucia and Blaise trained with Arya and Brann. The two Starks were surprisingly quick learners, even compared to Lucia and Blaise. And both took great care of their weapons that Hern had forged for them. However, they still only had weeks of practice compared to Lucia and Blaise, who had years to train, not only with Hern, but with the Companions.

"It looks they're doing quite well without him here."

Serana turned at the familiar voice to see the Altmer Ardainne.

"Yes, quite well. You've also done quite well in teaching Arya how to wield a saber," complimented Serana.

"I like to think I'm proficient at it. Though it still surprises me that your husband never learned it. I thought he was skilled in nearly all weapons?"

"Most, yes. But weapons like sabers and even the Blades' sword he has troubles with. He says the styles are too 'delicate' for him," Serana said with a smile.

It was true. A regular sword, axe, mace, war hammer, and just about anything else he could wield quite well. But when he used sabers and similar weapons that required more finesse than what he was used to, well, they had a tendency to snap in two.

The Altmer smiled. Serana had found the so-called prisoner to be good company, if quiet. Particularly now that Hern had left. She had proven to be true to her word, and had done her job faithfully.

"So how do you think your husband will react to having a baby?"

Serana was about to respond when it dawned on her. "Aw damn!" Shouted Serana, as she bolted off.

Ardainne stood there for a moment, wondering what the reaction was about until she figured it out. An amused smile on her face. "I guess her husband isn't the only one to become forgetful at times."

 **King's Landing**

Hern came back into his room after a day of seeing the city. The stench was as bad as ever outside of the Red Keep, so it had taken a lot of will power not to throw up every other block. But now was as good of a time to rest as any.

"About time you got back Listener."

Hern practically jumped out of his skin, "Ah fu-! Babette! How many times have I asked you _not_ to sneak up on me like that!?"

The child-like vampire had been standing in the corner. Of all the people Hern had encountered, she was one of the few that could still surprise him. He assumed it had something to do with her being over three hundred years old, a vampire, and being in the body of a child.

"Someone has to keep you on your toes. Most mortals can't, though I think your puppies are capable enough, if they tried," the small vampire said with a manipulative smile.

Hern sat down on his bed. Of all the vampires he had encountered, he had only met three that wouldn't attack him on sight. One, he was married to. Another had ended up being the court wizard in Solitude. A bit rough around the edges, but actually cared for Skyrim. The other, was, of all things, an Assassin vampire.

"I swear, I'll figure out how you do that someday," grumbled Hern.

"You are not the first to say that, and I doubt you will be the last." Replied Babette, standing in front of him.

"So, what did you want Babette?"

The petite vampire studied Hern for moment, seemingly assessing him again. "Well first of all, you will be glad to know that the 'Spider' has no relation to Mephala. Though I thought that a stretch to begin with."

Hern sighed with relief at that. Varys still raised some hairs on the back of his neck, but at least he wasn't involved with that Daedric Prince.

"In fact, it seems he has a severe distaste for anything that involves magic," Babette added on.

"Oh? Something you know?"

"Know? No, not yet. Though I have to say it has something to do with his own past. As for Baelish, he has no connection either, though I think Mephala would like him all the same," Babette finished.

"Really? I know he runs some brothels, but he's really that much of a champion of hers without knowing it?"

Babette nodded. "Let's just say he's not very pleasant, once you get past that slimy exterior. Though it seems he isn't plotting against you for the time being."

"Well, that's one thing to be glad for at least."

Babette stood there, motionless, staring at Hern.

"What is it?" Hern asked, tired of waiting.

A wicked smile formed on the vampire's face. "It's about your opponent."

Popping an eyebrow up, Hern asked, "You actually found out? I thought they were keeping a tight lid on this."

"Oh, I think you may actually enjoy this one. He's quite skilled. He may even give you a run for your money in this 'Trial' of yours."

Hern now focused his attention on Babette. "Who would that be?"

"That would be…"

 **The Iron Islands**

Ever since the arrival of The Observer, Oberyn Martell, Elsen had been hard at work setting the Thieves Guild and their agents to work in collecting information (and a few fancy looking objects and coin when they had a chance), and some light was being shone on the House of Martell that ruled Dorne. At her desk in one of the rooms in The Pyke castle, she was going over reports of the man and his family.

 _"So, one of Tywin Lannister's men killed Oberyn's sister during this 'Robert's Rebellion'? No wonder they don't get along with Royal Family."_ It had been quite educational for the Bosmer. Despite all major Houses recognizing Robert as their King, internal conflict was still rampant, if not drawn in swords, but in shadows. The reports were far more graphic, and it made her stomach churn just reading what the agents had heard. Elsen had never been good around blood, and her time as a Thalmor prisoner had only deepened that issue.

Though half of the things she saw written she wasn't quite sure were real. _"I doubt they have werewolves here. They don't even have stories of the things! So I don't think some wolf-monster barged into their room and-. No, best not to even think on that. Though the reports about this 'Clegane' person? Wouldn't be the first time a person would have done something so horrible."_

"Shaking over reports Elsen? We really need to work on that."

Elsen looked up from her pile of letters at the source of the voice, Karliah. "If you've read half of the things in here you, no, even a member of the Brotherhood, they would shiver a bit too. They at least kill their victim's quickly."

"I have read most of those reports, and some are quite, 'imaginative', I admit. True or not. But most of them agree that Tywin Lannister's man, this 'Gregor Clegane', was the one to kill the woman," Karliah remarked.

"That's true, many do. The scary thing is, are the number of ways he was described to have not only kill her, but her children too," responded Elsen.

"Guy sounds more like an attack dog than some lord."

A male voice interjected, shocking both women. "One can only hope they know the poem to send such a soul to Sithis. He would enjoy such a person."

The two Mer recovered quickly enough when they realized who it was. A Breton by the name of Arnandin, dressed in the red and black of the Dark Brotherhood.

"Arn, how many times do we have to ask _not_ to sneak up on us! We're supposed to be allies!" scolded Elsen.

The assassin simply shrugged.

The Brotherhood had been instrumental in the purge of spies that would not defect and remaining pirate crews that had evaded the initial battles. The Breton had been particularly effective, as he could naturally blend in with the would-be foes, and then destroyed them from within. Some quite literally.

Elsen sighed at the assassin. He was one of the more social members of the Brotherhood, as well as the liaison, but the group still made the hair on the back of her neck rise. Unlike her and the Thieves Guild, they were more than happy to get their hands dirty. Still, they had been invaluable.

"Arn, have any of the Brotherhood's contacts said anything more about this 'Clegane'?" Elsen asked. She decided to skip what she had on her desk.

"Well, both him and his brother are quite big. The one you are talking about has been nick-named 'The Mountain That Rides', and for a reason. Man is almost as tall as an Altmer with the build of an Orc. And has the temperament of a troll, with the ruthlessness of a Thalmor Justiciar."

"How do you know this?" asked Karliah.

"Killing is our job, our business. It is what we do. Of course we keep track of people like these, as they may end up a target in the future, because they attract plenty of those that wish them dead." replied Arn calmly.

"Do you know for a fact that Clegane killed Oberyn's sister?" Asked Elsen.

"That we do know. Though it wasn't as simple as that. I know how you are with the more graphic details, so let me just say that he wasn't merciful or quick in what he did."

Elsen shuddered again. But it did begin to connect a few dots for her. _"So Oberyn holds a grudge against Lannister, but not against The Hand of the King, going by what the General said. And Gregor Clegane sounds like an absolute monster."_

"Thank you Arn. Your services have been most useful tonight," Elsen said, trying to dismiss the assassin.

"My pleasure. Ah! I almost forgot. We received word from the Listener."

Elsen and Karliah both shook their heads. It troubled both of them, though Karliah a little less, when the Brotherhood had informed them of Hern's position amongst them. But, like many other things since this began, they were learning to adapt.

"What does it say?" asked Karliah.

"It seems Essos has their own guild of assassins. 'The Faceless Men' is what they call themselves. One of the fools tried to assassinate the Master Assassin. He's now sitting in a cell in the Red Keep. The Listener, of course, is quite well."

"So?" Elsen replied, losing patience.

"They have the ability to change their face. Be it magic or some ability, we do not know yet. But rather than solely Sithis, they also worship the God of Madness, though it seems they are not completely aware of the latter. They simply call him the 'God of Many Faces'." the assassin finished.

"Sheogorath? How does Hern know this?" demanded Elsen.

Surprising both the assassin and Bosmer, Karliah spoke. "It would not be the first Daedric Prince Hern has come into contact with. I know he has come into contact with Nocturnal and Azura, to say the least."

"The Listener has consorted with multiple Daedric Princes? And lived? Truly, he does have some of Nocturnal's luck than!" laughed the assassin.

Elsen though, could only groan internally. To know that Hern was not only the Dragonborn, but also the head or high ranking member of some of the most powerful forces in Skyrim were still sinking in. But now, he had consorted with at least three Daedric Princes? Why couldn't she have sworn her services to someone more simple? Like an Elf-hater? Or a Falmer? At least they were less complicated.

"Well, now that _that_ business is out of the way, anything else on Oberyn?" asked the now frustrated Elsen.

Karliah glanced at her. "For now, we know that most, if not all of his children are girls and technically bastards. In Dorne, that doesn't mean nearly the same as it does throughout the rest of Westeros. His true intentions, he either keeps to himself, or only shares with those that are tight-lipped. The man knows how to keeps secrets."

Sighing to herself, Elsen dismissed the assassin and thief, and poured herself some wine to calm her nerves for the night.

 **Winterfell**

"Keep your guard up, Arya! Stop staring at his eyes! Eyes in combat can easily lie!"

Arya growled to herself. She was doing everything she could to just defend from Blaise, who despite being only slightly older than herself, kept pushing her back. Try as she might, she had never been able to beat the boy in any of her training. She knew Blaise had several years of training on her, but it still irked her to no end.

Her only consolation was that Blaise was never cocky about it, never rubbed it in, and never held it over her head. Though his utter calmness about the entire thing irked her in its own way. Even now, in the middle of another sparring session, his expression was absolute calm. Meanwhile, she was gritting her teeth and exhausting herself just trying to keep up! And she had the lighter and swifter sword!

They were both using sheathes on their weapons, so as not to cut, but the bruises still hurt. Arya was covered with them while Blaise only received them from his sister. Arya tried a desperate thrust against the boy, but in the blink of an eye, her weapon went flying from her hand, and Blaise's sheathed longsword pointed at her throat, but then lowered with the match over.

"Arya! What did I say about letting emotions control you?"

Arya flinched. Her teacher with the saber, Ardainne, was in many ways harsher than Hern had been. But the elf, and that was still a new thing she was getting used to, had some points, even though she didn't like it all the time.

"I'm sorry," was all Arya could muster.

Ardainne sighed. "I know it isn't easy, but you need to learn to control yourself and not focus on the eyes."

Though Arya and Brann had begun at the same time, and early on, Arya had quickly pulled ahead, Bran was having an easier time of improving himself than she was now. And her brother was becoming more and more even with Blaise and Lucia while Arya felt like she was floundering.

"Ardainne? Do you think I could talk to Arya for a moment?"

Arya looked back at Blaise in surprise while picking up her sword.

Ardainne stood there for a moment in thought. "You may. Though your mother wants to see you and your sister for your _other_ lessons once you are done here," the Altmer said firmly.

"Thank you," Blaise, slightly pale at the comment, turned and pulled Arya along with him to a quieter area of the courtyard.

Arya was wondering what the boy wanted. Not once since she had started training had he ever pulled her aside like this.

Coming to a stop, Blaise faced Arya, concern painted his face. "Arya, what's going on? I know you're frustrated, but why?"

Partially scowling, Arya replied, "Because I can't seem to get any better! Brann is! No matter what I do, it just doesn't seem to be enough! I can't even touch you while sparring! Every time we do spar, it's all I can do to just defend. Meanwhile, you don't even look like you're trying when facing me!"

"Arya, have you tried that flame and void that my father taught you and Brann?" asked Blaise.

"Yes. And it doesn't work! No matter what I put into the flame, more just takes its place!"

Realization lit up in Blaise's eyes. "And what takes those thoughts' places?"

Realizing she let slip too much, Arya tried covering it back up. "Nothing. Nothing important."

"Arya, don't lie. If it wasn't important, it wouldn't be distracting you so much," Blaise said calmly but with concern.

Arya mumbled something, just loud enough for Blaise to hear, but not clearly. And now Blaise was getting frustrated with his friend from this new land.

"Arya Stark!" Blaise shouted.

That got Arya's attention. Not once since they had come, had she heard the boy shout.

"You are not the only one with problems! We're friends, are we not?" asked Blaise, which Arya nodded to silently. "Then tell me, what is wrong."

Looking Blaise dead in the eyes, Arya fessed up, if grudgingly. "I can't get better and you and your family will be leaving! Hern already left for King's Landing! Before you came here, I was forced to be a stupid _Lady_ , something I did not want to be! Since all of you came, I can actually be _me_!" Looking at her feet abashedly, "When you leave, I'll lose my best friends. And the first people outside of Jon and Father to accept me for me."

Arya felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up to see Blaise with sympathy in his eyes. "Arya, believe me, I know what it's like to lose friends and family. Before Hern took me in, I lost my birth parents in Skyrim's Civil War. Coming here? I, and my sister too, left behind a lot of friends back in Whiterun. It wasn't easy then, and it still isn't. But you know what?"

"What?"

"I keep going."

Arya looked at her friend in confusion. "You 'keep going'? What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that even when you're all alone, you can't let it discourage you. We may not be around forever, but we will still be friends, Arya. We just have to think what those close to us would say as if they were right there with us. Plus, we're here _now_. So let's enjoy this time while we can. Okay?"

Arya nodded, a small smile forming on her lips. What could she say? Blaise and Lucia had been her first friends her own age that didn't care about her being the daughter of Ned Stark, Warden of the North. They saw her for being Arya, someone whom aspired to be a fighter, a warrior even! And they had helped her take the first steps towards it. Still, Blaise's words had helped. Far more than she realized.

"Thanks Blaise," Arya said quietly.

Blaise nodded. It had been advice he had learned from his parents and from the Companions. It had helped him and his sister more times than they could count while Hern had been away. It still helped now.

"Blaise! Your mother is getting impatient!" called out Ardainne.

Blaise paled a little, looking scared, but Arya couldn't help but laugh, as Blaise and Lucia were always nervous about their private lessons. She didn't know what they did, but they always came back exhausted. It was nice seeing even they had limits.

"Oh laugh it up." Blaise said in a faux-mad voice. Then it softened, "I expect you to be better next time we face off. Deal?" Blaise held out his hand.

"Deal." Arya replied, and shook his hand. She would be better, and she would beat him, maybe not next time, but one day, she would be the one to win. And then they would laugh about it afterwards. And she realized something. Even though Blaise wasn't Hern's by birth, he had picked up some habits from him nonetheless. The way Hern could help someone feel more calm than they had simply by saying a few words. Along with a few other traits. She couldn't help but laugh at the thought of Blaise losing his trail of thought as the boy ran to join his sister in private lessons.

 **King's Landing**

"Ah! Lord Ambassador! I hope you are quite ready for your Trial?"

Hern eyed the weasel of a man before him. From the moment Petyr Baelish had 'introduced' himself to Hern, Hern had taken an immediate disliking to him. "Uh, Petyr Littlefinger, was it?"

Baelish's eye twitched. "That's 'Baelish' Lord Ambassador."

"Right, Littlefinger Baelish. My apologies," Hern faked his sentiments.

Hern had learned early on it irked the man quite a bit calling him 'Littlefinger', particularly in public, and to his face. Hern knew he shouldn't antagonize the man, but Baelish's actions had been a little _too_ helpful since arriving. Reminded him too much of his former mentor in the Brotherhood. She had been far more helpful than most others had at the time, too helpful after he had time to work think back on it. And it had nearly cost him his life, twice in a short time.

Since then, Hern had been suspicious of such people. It had kept him alive through several later incidents, though it also meant being slow to trust those who really wanted to help. It had been a bitter time for him.

He knew he shouldn't irk a member of the Small Council, but old habits died hard. Some more than others when it came to certain attributes.

Littlefinger's eye twitched again at the name. Hern laughed internally at it, as the man was normally so damned composed. Getting him to twitch would be like getting a regular person to jump up and down screaming their head off.

"But, I am ready. I'm quite eager to see whom I shall be facing," Hern finished off.

"Oh, he is quite good. Though if I may? Perhaps asking for someone else to take your-."

Hern rolled his eyes. It had been the thousandth time one of these Westrosi Lords had tried to convince him to back out and have someone stand in for him. Not that he was lacking in volunteers, as he knew that the four shadowing him would be more than happy to fight in his place. But Hern had volunteered himself for a reason. "Not happening Lord Littlefinger. I fight my own battles."

Baelish's eye twitched again.

Hern and Baelish were followed by the Circle of the Companions, while the rest of Hern's host waited in the Main Hall were the Trial was to take place. A pair of guards opened the door for them, and Hern saw the man he was to be facing.

"I see you're not wearing that strange armor that you had when I met you at the docks."

Thanks to Babette, Hern had found out that it had been Jaime Lannister, a man supposedly unrivaled with the sword in this Kingdom. Hern had no ill will towards the man, and would spare him the moment he yielded if it came to that, but he would also not hesitate to lop the Lannister's head off either if forced to.

"I wanted the match to be on more, even, terms with whomever I faced, Jaime," Hern replied. Today, for the match, he was wearing plate steel armor, but carried a war axe that had been given to him by Euorland Greymane himself, the Skyforge Steel weapon had never failed him. But he preferred to only use it for certain occasions, like this one.

After seeing the Kingsguard member nod, Hern studied the surroundings. There was quite the crowd, and Hern suspected most, if not all, were nobles or other such people of high standing.

Not quite in the crowd, but on the dais with the royal family, Hern spotted the Imp, Tyrion. He had found the man's company interesting, though the dwarf's constant insistence he visit a brothel had grown on his nerves. Short of that though, he found the small man to be a thinker and good company. _"Still, if Serana even thought I even considered such a proposal, she would rip out my throat, heal me, rip off my balls, heal me, and then decapitate me,"_ thought Hern to himself musingly.

But two figures definitely caught his eye. Both stood taller than nearly anyone else in the room from Westeros, and would not have looked out of place amongst even Nords. One, Sandor Clegane, a man with a badly scarred face, stood behind Joffery (Hern had steered clear of the Royal Family unless summoned), and looked like he would rather have a drink then guarding the prince.

The other figure, was in the main crowd and would give even an Altmer a run for their Septims in height. Gregor Clegane. An imposing figure for most, but most people hadn't gone head to head with giants, dragons, Daedra, and Vampire Lords. But the man looked like _he_ wanted to be the one to kill Hern, or anyone else in the room. _"A brute of a man, and big, but I've seen bigger. Still, best to keep an eye on him."_

Looking at the Royal Family now, Hern wasn't surprised to see the fat king with a glass of wine in hand, and an open bottle on a nearby stand. What did surprise him though, was the smug look on the Queen's face. _"So, she seems certain of her brother's win. So did Tyrion. I guess even those two can agree on something. Tyrion did say something about his brother being a good way to make money."_

It hadn't been a secret that Cersei and Tyrion didn't exactly like each other, and that was putting a very positive spin on their relationship. What had surprised Hern was how open they both were about it. He couldn't imagine hating Rohki. Be afraid of her? Yes. A temper worse than a dragon, that one. Hate her? Not in his lifetime. Hating his sibling was about as foreign to him as the Mer were to the people here.

"Ambassador Hern?"

Hern snapped out of his state, "Uh, sorry. What was it?" Hern turned to the person talking to him, to see Jaime.

"Yes, I was wondering if you were planning on using that axe on you back?" asked Jaime.

Pointing to the weapon with his thumb, "Oh this? Call it a 'Nord thing' if you will. You Westerosi people have a thing for swords, right? Well we Nords have things for axes. And this one is a personal favorite."

A cocky grin came on Jaime's face. "If you say so. I just hope you know how to use it."

Hern mentally shook his head. He hadn't interacted much with Jaime, but he hadn't really seen this side of him, a sort of cockiness. Hern just hoped he wouldn't have to kill the man. He didn't want Tyrion mad at him. The queen? After the week of looks she had given him in passing, a mixture of disgust and, later on, smugness, he didn't really care what she thought. But he felt antagonizing her by killing her brother could be bad. There was also Jaime's father, who was supposed to be one of the most powerful men in Westeros, and Hern felt getting on that man's bad side would be detrimental to many things.

After the formal proceedings finished, Hern took position across from Jaime, axe in hand. Jaime took his position with his sword.

"Fighters, begin!"

The two met in the middle, Jaime trying a diagonal strike, but Hern deflected it with the shaft of the axe. Though Hern's momentum with his axe didn't stop there, as he brought the weighted end of the axe up with the follow through and struck a glancing blow on Jaime's exposed shoulder. Not enough to injure him, but enough to drive him back for a moment.

Hern stood there ready to go again and waited for Jaime to engage. This time Jaime tried a feint, a thrust to Hern's chest turned into a strike at the arm, but Hern, rather than step into avoid the attack, stepped _back_ and using the flat side of his axe, he knocked Jaime off balance.

The two ignored the hoots and shouting of the crowd. Hern waited patiently for Jaime to get ready again.

"You know Jaime, you need to remember I'm not using a sword," Hern reminded the Kingsguard.

A dry laugh came from Jaime's lion-shaped helmet. "Right, my apologies."

"Let's dance then Jaime," Hern proposed. His response was a single nod.

And 'dance' they did. So quick and fluid were their movements, attacks, and counterattacks, the crowd soon grew silent as they watched the two fight. Some more from surprise than from amazement from the deadly dance. Among those were Tyrion and Cersei. Their brother was being met blow for blow by a man using a far heavier weapon. One of the best swordsmen in all Seven Kingdoms was being matched move for move!

Every attack was parried. Every parry was blocked. Every block was countered. The two warriors circled one another, both graceful as cats in their movements, but as deadly as dragons in their clashes. To most, it appeared to be a dead even fight. But most were not the two in combat. Hern was used to facing foes with two handed swords. Jaime though, was not used to dealing with skilled battle axe users. And the battle was taking its toll on Jaime.

As Hern and Jaime continued their dance, Hern tried for a chop to Jaime's shoulder, but the man dodged it, and countered with a thrust. Hern in turn parried it away and saw the opening he had been hoping for. After parrying the thrust, Hern extended his axe down, using his long reach to his advantage, hooked Jaime's leg behind the knee with the under part of the blade, and pulled hard.

With a heavy thud, Jaime landed on his back, helmet slipping off, and found the spike on the axe hovering over his throat, and heavy boot pinning his sword arm down.

"Yield Jaime."

Jaime stared up at the man, disbelief in his eyes. Until that move, neither had been able to make any real headway against the other, not accounting for the first couple of collisions. Neither even had any nicks in their armor. But Jaime was now facing almost certain death with the spike pointed right at his throat.

"Yield. You put up a better fight than most I have ever faced. It would be a shame to put someone with your skill down. Plus, I don't want your family mad at me," Hern said in a voice that didn't travel beyond the two.

Hern studied the man contemplating his choices. "There is no dishonor nor shame in knowing when you are beaten. You simply improve for the next time you fight," Hern advised calmly.

Jaime cracked another smug grin, and in a loud voice, clear and unwavering so all could hear, "I yield!"

Hern pulled his axe back, glad to not have to kill the man. Hern set his axe down on the ground and removed his helmet. After that, he extended a hand to Jaime to help him up. That's when the two fighters noticed an applause, as well as a loud guffaw coming from the raised dais.

"Ha ha! Never thought I'd see the fucking day when Jaime Lannister would get his ass handed to him! And by a man wielding an axe at that!" exclaimed the King. Though not everyone had enjoyed it as much. Several others eyed Hern, warier than anything else, now that one of the best they had was defeated.

The rest of the crowd applauded, not having expected such an entertaining match.

Jaime though, turned to the man who had just beaten him, slight confusion in his face and voice. "So you really meant what you said about sparing your opponent. Why?"

It was Hern's turn to smile. "I always keep my word, Jaime. And I have to admit, that was one of the best fights I've had in a long time. It'd be a shame to kill a man as talented as you are."

Jaime's confusion turned into gladness for keeping his head, as well as a touch of respect. "If you don't mind, how were you able to wield that weapon of yours so well? I was under the impression it was far heavier than a sword."

"Here," Hern said, handing his axe over to Jaime, "try it out. It's actually one of my lighter axes."

When Jaime took it, he nearly dropped it! He had been expecting it to be crafted to be extremely light, but it must have weighed one and a half stones! And it was supposed to be one Hern's lighter weapons? No wonder he wielded it like it weighed nothing! The man was as strong as an ox!

"I-I see," Jaime stuttered. Not from intimidation, but from amazement.

While Jaime and Hern stood talking in the middle of the crowd, both failed to notice the man by Gregor Clegane, whose eyes and hair were shared by two of his children. A gleam was in the man's eye, one that spoke of trouble for Hern.

But soon all were distracted when Hern's forces began singing a song, one that was lost on most of the Westerosi, though a few picked up on what was meant.

Oh, there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red  
Who came riding to Whiterun from ole Rorikstead

And the braggart did swagger and brandish his blade  
As he told of bold battles and gold he had made

But then he went quiet, did Ragnar the Red  
When he met the shield-maiden Matilda, who said

Oh, you talk and you lie and you drink all our mead  
Now I think it's high time that you lie down and bleed!"

And so then came clashing and slashing of steel  
As the brave lass Matilda charged in, full of zeal

And the braggart named Ragnar was boastful no more-  
When his ugly red head rolled around on the floor!

The cheers went up from those that had accompanied Hern, and some of the Westrosi, not knowing the intent behind the song, had joined in. It had indeed been a victory for Hern, but it was only starting.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13. A Toast!

 **King's Landing**

Hern, the Companions, Blades, and a good number of the guard he had brought with him were celebrating Hern's victory over Jaime, and for having a good fight, in one of the local taverns that didn't reek as bad as others. While the drinks were nothing compared to what they were used to back in Skyrim, it was something at least. Hern though, had wanted to go back to his rooms, but the Circle twins would not take 'no' for an answer.

If nothing else, Hern was enjoying a little downtime without having to deal with politics, battles to the death, and vampire children that took all too much delight in scaring the shit out of him.

"Lis-Hern. There you are."

Hern jumped from his bar stool, and subconsciously threw the drink in his hand that spilled its contents on some poor soldier enjoying some down time.

"Dammit Babette, even in public!?" Hern said, just short of shouting, turning on the vampire that had somehow ended up on the other side of the bar.

Her response was a cheeky smile. "Oh, but Lord Ambassador! I am merely the tavern keep's daughter, helping him out during a busy day! I didn't mean to _scare_ you!"

The sarcasm and fake tone was not lost Hern, who narrowed his eyes. When Hern looked at the tavern keep a little closer, he could see a blank look in the man's eye. Something that most would miss, if they didn't know what to look for.

Quieting his voice, so that few people, except Vilkas and Farkas, who were the closest, wouldn't hear them over the din in the room.

"So, thrall or illusion?" asked Hern, subtly indicating the entranced barkeep.

Babetter kept up the smile. "A little bit of both, perhaps. One can hear the most _interesting_ things in a tavern or twelve. Like the imp is not only a whore-monger, but is something of a scholar, the King has a good number of bastard children running around he may not even know of, and several Houses may plan to try and align with you."

While it was interesting, he knew Babette was there for some other reason. "So, what brings you here now?" asked Hern warily.

Babette revealed a letter and handed it to Hern. "This came not long ago. Luckily I've been keeping, an eye, or ten, on the ravens, else it may have been intercepted by someone _not_ under me control. News from your wife."

Arching an eyebrow up at Babette making herself a messenger, as she usually thought herself above that, Hern opened up the letter. To most people, it would appear as little more than lines and dots. However, to Hern and Serana who had studied some of this script, it was a language only one mortal in all the world knew instinctively. And when he read it, his eyes grew wide, and the vampire in front of him was wondering if they would pop out like the one target she had dealt with that had been causing a ruckus a few nights before.

"What does she say?" asked Babette impatiently.

Hern was unresponsive, but Babette kept pestering him. Soon, the twins noticed what was going on as well. Vilkas shook Hern's shoulder. Finally, Hern brought the letter down, a stunned look in his face.

"Serana's turned into a chicken! Someone used the Wabbajack on her!"

This earned questionable stares from Babette, Vilkas, and Farkas, until the small vampire asked for clarification. "Could you be more specific? I thought you left _that_ thing back in Whiterun."

"She said she's going to have an egg! A damned to Oblivion egg!"

Vilkas and Babette both face palmed. Farkas was still confused, and was looking at the paper in Hern's hands, trying to figure out what it said.

"No furball," grunted Babette annoyed, "it means she's pregnant."

If Farkas had not been in the right position and caught his friend, Hern would have fallen completely to the floor unconscious.

 **Winterfell**

For Colette, it had been an interesting few weeks since Hern had left for King's Landing. Namely because of a certain vampire. For a Master of Restoration, the Healing Arts, it was almost tradition that Healers looked after those expecting children. Though a vampire that was pregnant with a werewolf's child was something she had never even heard _rumors_ of before! What's more, would it be like the Septim lineage, and begin a new line of Dragonborn? These prospects alone excited the mage.

But what excited her more, was that the vampire was her friend! An interesting turn of events for anyone! One of the most interesting aspects to her, was that Serana had lost nearly all desire and need for blood. Though she gained a rather unusual craving. Garlic covered sweet rolls. How the vampire could stomach them was beyond her, but it kept Serana happy. And a happy vampire was a vampire not trying to suck the blood of their gracious hosts.

Another thing had been the mood swings. Normally Serana was rather levelheaded, but she had been harder on Blaise and Lucia in their training than usual, borderline cruel. And would break down into tears when she realized it. Thankfully the two were patient and understanding, for their ages.

"Is this part of mother being pregnant Colette?" asked Blaise.

Colette could only shrug her shoulders as they watched.

The two were currently watching the pregnant vampire down a plate of the foul-looking concoctions she had been craving, while tearing up and crying while doing so. Both were a little put off at how out of ordinary Serana was. For Serana that is.

Lucia soon joined them in watching, snacking on an apple. Rather than put off, she had been more fascinated by the changes in her adoptive mother. But she raised an important question that none of them had thought of.

"I wonder how father will react to this?" Lucia wondered aloud.

It was a good question. But neither of them were sure. The Starks seemed happy enough, and didn't pay it much attention, and only attributed Serana's odd behavior to being from a different land. It was a rumor that they were happy to let continue. Though Westeros had no legends or stories of vampires, they figured it was safer that no one knew Serana's not-fully human nature.

Done with her latest spat of sobs, Serana called out to the three watchers.

"You can come in now."

Looking cautiously, Blaise asked, "Are you okay now mother?"

Nodding, Serana responded, "Yes. Yes I am. How is your training going with the Starks?"

The two were silent for a moment. Lucia was the first to speak, "They are getting better. Much better than when they first started."

Serana was waiting patiently to hear the rest.

Sighing, Blaise finished for her. "But they are nowhere near ready to face a real opponent. Brann is still too slow when aiming and adjusting. Arya doesn't yet have the upper body strength for a full bow, though she is getting there. But in sparring, both telegraph their moves too much. Anyone with a decent amount of skill would quickly overwhelm them."

Serana nodded, but added her own thoughts. "True. In an actual fight, they would be woefully unprepared. But they haven't been at this as long as you two have. That said, how is your _own_ training going?"

The two fidgeted nervously. Lucia went this time though, "We're getting the Adept levels now. To a point."

Serana shook her head before speaking. "You know you won't be able to get them down unless you practice them. I know this isn't the most ideal place, to do so, but you must keep up your own training."

Colette waited behind them patiently. She had been doing her own training with the two children, mainly in restoration. Like many of their other fields though, they were struggling to learn the Adept level spells. However, she was not there to talk of the children's lessons. She was there for another reason, and that reason was in her pocket.

"Serana," Collete began while closing and locking the door, "we received word from your husband." Before Serana could ask, Collete specified, "it arrived too soon for him to have received the other letter. Would you like me to read it? Or would you rather…?"

"You may Collete."

Collete took out the letter and began reading.

"Dear Serana, Blaise, Lucia, and whoever else is there with you." Collete was a little surprised by that last part, but Hern was a surprising man in many ways. "Shortly after arriving in King's Landing, the 'negotiation' about The Pyke ended up being a Trial by Combat."

Everyone's eyes went wide and a near unanimous "What!?" was echoed throughout the room.

Colette recollected herself and continued, "I won of course, else someone else would have written this and talked about putting the Royal Family's heads on pike and taking the place over. As it turned out, my opponent was Jaime Lannister. A bit full of himself, but he's okay. His brother is quite entertaining though! A good drinker, enjoys stories and books! Though his other activities are best left unsaid. The sister, well, the less said about her the better. The king here is fat as hoarker and twice as drunk. How he hasn't drowned himself yet is beyond me. Makes me wonder how he's lasted so long! For the last bit of news, I'll finally be able to get into discussions with the people in charge. And, hopefully in time, we can work something out. Love Always, and please no trying to rip my head off when we meet again Serana, Hern."

There were several moments of silence, until all sighed and Serana growled, "Leave it to Hern to get into a duel the moment he gets to the capitol of a country and pass it off as nothing major and worry more about what _I_ might do to him."

The others all silently agreed.

 **King's Landing**

"Hern! Hey, wake up!"

Hern felt something sticky on his cheek and sat up from laying on the bar. "I'm up, I'm up. I guess I had a few too many. Even gave me a strange dream that I got a letter from Serana saying that she was…"

Hern paused as he saw Babette holding the piece of paper, who confirmed what it was, "It was no dream. And it is only the second time in my life I have heard of such a thing."

The twins, on either side of Hern, each gave a partially supportive and partially congratulatory pats on Hern's back. But Hern was wondering what Babette meant. "The second time? You mean you've heard of, well, _that_ happening before?"

The diminutive vampire nodded. "It was about two centuries ago now, in Cyrodiil. Around the time of the Crisis, if I remember right. But apparently one of the members of the Fighter's Guild was part vampire, though the only difference between him and others was that he was paler than most, according to rumors and gossip."

"And you never said anything until now?"

"I had thought it only gossip until your letter. And gossip can easily change a simple matter into something completely different," responded Babette. "Truth be told, it's been the only time I've heard of such a thing, until now."

Hern folded his arms across his chest, thinking about this new information. _"Serana, pregnant? And I'm all the way here in King's Landing and she's up in Winterfell? And, what does that mean for the baby? And apparently vampires can have children too. Maybe I can get these negotiations, now that the trial thing is over, underway and get things set up."_

At that moment, the door to the tavern opened, with a tall figure in it. A tall man with a bad burn scar on the side of his face that, under most circumstances, would make most people at least cringe. But the people of Skyrim, particularly these, took only one look at the man and went back to their conversations and drink. To them, a burn scar on the face meant that a person had beaten a fire mage or flame atronach.

What most didn't notice was the slight expression of surprise in the man's eyes. He was used to people at least flinching from such things, but these foreigners had treated it like it was an almost common occurrence! But he wasn't there to see reactions, he was here to get a better look at the damnable ambassador that had not only gone blow for blow with one of the best in all the Seven Kingdoms, but beat the blonde bastard without killing him! Tywin Lannister was interested. And to get a good drink as well.

Hern, unlike most in the room, paid attention to the newcomer, if in a way that most wouldn't think possible. But those immediately around him weren't particularly normal, even by Skyrim's standards. He had smelled the man come in. A smell different from Tamreli, with a hint of cheap drink. To the unobservant person, this man could be mistaken as a Nord, but this man was no Nord despite his height. When he sat down at a nearby stool, Hern decided to make nice.

"Ah, you would be, Clegane? Sandman Clegane right?" asked Hern, hoping he got the name right.

The response indicated he had not. Clegane gave him a silent growl look. "The name's 'Sandor'. Guard to the little shit Joffery Baratheon. And you would be this 'Lord Ambassador' right?"

Hern thought it refreshing that someone from these places wasn't so stuck on formalities. "Just call me Hern. 'Ambassador' is a job. And 'Lord' is, in my opinion, a bit much to call me. At most, I'm a minor lord that doesn't even really rule over anyone."

"A Lord is a Lord."

Completely at ease, Hern replied, "More like someone that helps people out with things that are beyond their power. And occasionally clearing out bandits."

Sandor gave a snort. But the lack of notice Hern and company were giving to his scars was a little bothering. "None of you pay much attention to scars, do ya?"

Hern gave a quizzical look to his Companion friends, Babette back to playing the role of bar keep's daughter. But Vilkas and Farkas shrugged. They didn't get it either. Turning back to Sandor, Hern answered, "Well, burn scars aren't exactly rare. In fact, I'd be surprised if there isn't a person in the tavern that doesn't have their own collection of scars, burn or otherwise."

"So you've all fought in battles?" asked Sandor.

"More than that, every last person here, yourself included I wager, has been in one war or another. Truth be told, Skyrim is just recovering from her own Civil War a few years back," Hern replied. What he said was the truth. Maybe not the whole truth, but the truth nonetheless.

"Interesting. Know any good drinks here?"

Hern smirked. "Here? No. So far, most drinks have tasted like the city smells. Like absolute skeever shit. Wouldn't mind a good bottle of Honningbrew Mead."

"Skeever?" asked Clegane.

"Ah, right. You guys don't have them here. Think rats the size of a dog that wouldn't mind taking a bite out of a bear if it could," respond Vilkas.

That got Sandor's attention. "A rat as big as a dog? Next thing you'll be yelling me you have spiders the size of fucking horses."

That brought on an awkward silence.

"You've got 'ta be fucking shitting me."

Farkas shivered a bit, but Hern covered for him. "Wish we were. Compared to some other creatures, they're not too hard to kill. But the damned things can give you nightmares."

Sandor made a mental note to never go to Skyrim, at least not alone. "Well, piss on spiders and rats." Shaking his head, Sandor called to the barkeep, "Oy! An ale here!"

Before the enthralled barkeep could dig out one, a bottle of Nord mead was slid from down the counter to Sandor, who looked at who sent it to him, a woman with a face covered in tattoos.

"Try this drink on for size. It tastes better and will get you plenty drunk, in time."

"There you are Aela!" called out Hern, "We were wondering where you went to."

"Just taking a stroll around the city with Lydia, who's over at one of the tables right now," Aela replied.

"I take it you heard of the tourney coming up then?" asked Sandor curiously.

"Yes, actually. I was about to bring that up, though I assume you know more about what this tourney entails then we do, Clegane I believe it was?" asked Aela.

Taking a moment to take a quick drink of the Nord Ale, which to his surprise did taste better than most drink he was used to, Clegane began rattling off all the parts of the tournament, caught up in Hern and the Companions' casualness.

After Sandor finished and the twins began discussing the tourney with some input from Aela, Hern turned his own thoughts back to Serana and his unborn child. His thoughts kept going back over themselves in regards to what this meant. He had taken in Blaise and Lucia when they were both about ten years old, so Hern hadn't had to raise them from infants. Hern was also beginning to worry about how Blaise and Lucia were reacting to this. It was all a lot to take in! Incredibly stress-

Hern felt a sharp pain in his shin, and saw the devilish little vampire trying to act innocent until he heard Aela trying to get his attention. Hern still grunted in pain. "About time Hern. We were wondering if you were interested in joining in the tournament melee."

"Sorry, my mind was, occupied. What's the melee about?" asked Hern.

Taking his chance, Sandor jumped in. "You take that big fucking axe of yours and smash your enemies to fucking bits. Killing isn't the point in it, supposedly, though some bastard has a tendency to die every so often."

Hern looked at the Companions around him, knowing they would be in it already, and they looked at him expectantly. "I'll think on it. I do have a few other things to discuss with the king and hand."

Sandor didn't look very expectant. "I doubt the King would do a damned thing, other than challenge you to a duel. He's too wrapped in fucking and drinking to do much ruling."

Hern sighed. That was what he had been afraid of. And to hear from someone close to the source only cemented it. "What about Jon Arryn, the hand?"

Clegane nodded. "That guy has been running the kingdom anyway, for all the fucking good it does. He's the ruler in all but name, Lord-"

"Sandor, please. Just Hern. Was never a fan of such titles. Though I find it odd that one can be the guard of the heir to the throne without being, what was it you people called it? 'Knighted'? In my experience, the Westrosi are sticklers for such things," Hern pointed out.

A bit surprised, Sandor took another drink of the ale. "Not a fucking knight," Sandor spat, "but I am good at killing. The Prince's grandfather appointed me as such because I kill better than most."

"Fair enough. Though tell me, is Cersei-"

"The Queen," Sandor said off-handedly.

"The Queen, is she always so…" Hern trailed off trying to find the right words.

"Shallow?" asked Aela.

"Rude?" asked Farkas.

"Petty?" asked Vilkas.

"… Something like those," Hern said, barely acknowledging that his friends had just publicly insulted the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

Sandor had to admit to himself, their openness was a bit refreshing. "You sound like her brother, the Imp. Little shit likes to do the same thing to Joffery too. But yeah. She can be a royal pain."

Hern took a drink of ale, before spitting out the Westerosi variant. He mumbled to himself how people could drink such stuff before getting back into the conversation. "Aye, met Tyrion a few times. Interesting fellow I'll admit. Joffery? Haven't had much chance to see or talk to him though."

The others around him nodded that they hadn't had much chance either.

Sandor eyed them, thinking a few things over before shrugging and going back to his own ale. "Probably for the best. I'll leave it at that though. Thanks for the ale." As he got up to leave he turned back momentarily, "You were right. Your shit is better than that piss water we call ale."

After Clegane left, Babette came back over to the Companions, Hern specifically. "You do know he was sent to spy on you, right?"

"Well yeah. Not exactly subtle, that one," countered Hern.

"No, I think he was just sent to feel things out," came a voice from behind the Companions.

"Ah, Delphine. Falling back into the old 'cloak and dagger'?" asked Hern sarcastically.

If Hern had been facing the Grandmaster of the Blades, he would have seen a very unhappy swordswoman. She still smacked him up the back of his head though. Which made the man clutch it in pain.

"It's not him I'm worried about, at least when it comes to subtlety. It's whoever may be pulling the strings here that has me concerned," scolded Delphine.

"I get it! Just let me at least have one _good_ drink before I have to dive into this skeever shit 'Game' of theirs, okay?" pleaded Hern.

Covering her face with her hand in frustration, Delphine acquiesced. Grudgingly.

 **The Pyke Province**

"These damned invaders! Fregas' men were wiped out last week!" roared the bearded fat man known as Dorak Redbeard. He was looking over some of the reports his men had been able to bring in.

"Ser, doesn't that make us the last ones left?" asked one of the men standing in the room.

Ever since the Imperial Forces of Tamriel had come, they had been methodically wiping out raider forces that did not surrender. One by one, raider strongholds had either been taken into custody, or everyone slaughtered. Some groups had tried to fight back, but that only meant that they had died on the battlefield rather than their strongholds. The other few remaining groups left had gone silent. What that meant for Captain Dorak Redbeard and his men, wasn't good either way. It meant that either the Imperial Forces had severed all communications, or had taken care of the other groups.

"By the Drowned God, I hope not!" Shouted Redbeard again. It was bad enough already, with morale and supplies low. And local support was all but gone when it was made clear that supporting the raiders was treated harshly. It was not a good time for the Raiders.

Redbeard had about fifty men left, hardly enough to mount any real resistance against such overwhelming numbers. And the Raiders weren't exactly welcome on the mainland either.

"Ser, I have a report."

Redbeard looked at the source of the voice. A somewhat short, but well-built man had just entered, a man who could disappear into a crowd with ease. Nothing noteworthy about the man, but had joined up with a few remaining stragglers.

"Speak lad. I hope you bring good news," grumbled Redbeard.

Without blinking, the man took out a knife and thrust it into the table, earning the attention of the others as the knife gave off a soft glow, as well as being an odd shape.

"It seems the Imperial Forces uses weapons like these," began the man, "weapons that, even with a small cut, can drain the life from a man. I was barely able to get away with this."

Redbeard picked it up and looked it over. "Never seen anything quite like it. If we can get enough of these, we may be able to carve out a slice of The Pyke for ourselves! Good work lad! Maybe we can even figure out how to do it ourselves."

The young man gave a big, toothy smile. "Perhaps we can find others and recruit them to help? I would be glad to deliver the message personally, Ser."

"Only one other group I know of," Redbeard began, "is hiding out with House Sunderly. You've done good work lad. We can finally even out the score."

The smile on the young man became a smirk. "No, Redbeard, you won't," he said condescendingly.

Before any of the men could react, two glowing and evil looking knives appeared in the young man's hands. With two lightning quick slashes, the two men closest fell with their throats gaping open, blood spurting on the rest of the group.

While the two men with their throats slit fell to the floor, the young man danced around the table, knives a blur as they deflected the sword strikes that only a few of the men had been able to draw. Another one of Redbeard's men went down, as the young man pulled a knife from the raider's eye socket. Another went down as the knife was pulled from his throat.

Stopping as he approached Redbeard and his guards, the young man's smirk turned into a malicious smile, even as the knives vanished from his hands in a black light.

"Y-y-you! You're working for the Empire!" shouted Redbeard stunned.

"The Empire? No, not quite. I only serve the Listener, Night Mother, and Sithis." Before any of the men before him could process this, the young man's hands came back up, this time with an electric glow.

Seeing the eyes on his targets grow wide in fear, the young man uttered one phrase. "Hail Sithis."

Right after saying that, lightning erupted from his hands into the group of men. Few barely cried out in pain before they were turned to dust. The young man approached the dust piles, and scattered the ashes. He dropped a single piece of paper onto the table in the center of the room, with the image of a black hand on it.

Satisfied, he picked up the dagger in the table and sheathed it. Making his way back out the door he had come in, he paused for a moment and turned to see the wide eyed stare of the two guards on either side of the door. He pulled an ebony dagger from each man's throat, letting the bodies slump to the floor. Continuing down the hallway that led back outside, he appreciated his handy work. Nearly forty men had died by his hand quietly before he had even gotten to the final chamber that Redbeard had been in.

Going by another man that had been pinned to the table by a sword, the assassin pulled it up out of the body. It had been a gift from the Listener, finely crafted. He knew the Listener would not appreciate his leaving such a gift behind. Not every day one is awarded an ebony sword.

Arnandin grinned. It had been a good night to send souls to Sithis. His eyes then turned to the head of a woman near the body it had been separated from. His smile from a moment ago gone. Arnandin knew that the Listener preferred as little collateral damage as possible, but he had at least made her death swift. As far as he could tell, she had been a servant, probably dragged there by Firebeard himself. At least she had suffered. It was a rule Arnandin followed devoutly from the Listener. _"If you kill, make it quick, unless they are a particularly foul person. Then take your time. Or if you need information. Both work."_

Arnandin headed out the door and found Karliah and Elsen waiting. He doubted the Bosmer would head in. She paled from simple paper cuts. Karliah might. He knew the Dunmer wasn't as turned away by blood, but also knew she wasn't one to kill without great cause.

"I was wondering if you two would show up," Arnandin said calmly.

The two elves eyed the door behind him for a moment before Kaliyah spoke, "We wanted to make sure it went off without any problems."

Smiling again, Arnandin told them. "Went off quite well. Firebeard and his men have been sent to Sithis. He only knew of one other group left, supposedly with House Sunderly."

"Very well then, you may go. We'll wait here for the others to come by and see what Firebeard had," Elsen said weakly.

The two elves watched the Breton walk calmly down the road, his job done for the moment, before Karliah turned to the Bosmer. "Elsen, I still don't know what you see in him. You and he are complete opposites. He revels in death, blood, and killing. You turn white from a nosebleed and anything bigger than a kitchen knife."

Elsen knew Karliah was right. "I know, but, I can't help it. It's that old saying I suppose, 'opposites attract', though I think it may be one sided."

Karliah shook her head. "I suggest you look elsewhere. You and him? A Bosmer girl that's terrified of violence with a Breton that revels in murder? You wouldn't get more than a night with one another, and that would be generous. Besides, I think it's more physical attraction than anything."

Elsen sighed. "Maybe. It's a hard thing to shake."

Karliah rolled her eyes. She knew it wouldn't last long, if it ever got beyond what it was now. The Bosmer's odd attraction to the assassin was a little concerning. Though Hern trusted both, Karliah did not like what may happen. "Enough of that for tonight. After the Dawnguard gets here, we hit the tavern. On me tonight."

"Deal."

 **Winterfell**

Serana was sitting out on the wall of the mighty fortress, enjoying the night sky. Although it didn't have the same sky that could be seen outside of Whiterun on certain nights, it certainly was relaxing.

But it was lonely without Hern. This had been the longest the two of them had been separated in years. She understood why, but she still did not like it. She just hoped Delphine and Babette would keep him in line. The Companions, while loyal and friends through and through, were more likely to get Hern into trouble than out, unless it required brute force.

"Lady Serana?"

Serana's eyes widened momentarily in surprise. _"It seems some of Hern's traits have rubbed off on to me. I should have heard her coming long before she spoke,"_ Serana thought.

"Lady Stark." Serana greeted, turning to the Lady of the House.

"Please, call me Catelyn. We've known one another long enough now," she responded gently.

"Then call me 'Serana'." Replied the Vampire, a friendly smile on her face. Serana had come to like Catelyn over the weeks they had spent there, aside from the sensitive subject of Jon Snow.

"Serana," Catelyn replied, getting used to the name, "may I ask why you are out here so late?"

Turning back to look out at the night and taking a relaxing breath, Serana replied, "Because I find it calming. Back in Skyrim, Hern and I spent many nights out on the road, and gazing up at the night sky. The past few years, we lived in the city of Whiterun. Where, if you go out at night, you can see brilliant and beautiful colors in the sky sometimes."

"I see," replied Catelyn. "No wonder. But are you not cold out here?"

Serana laughed to herself internally. She sometimes forgot that the Starks didn't know she was a Vampire. The cold affected her less than it did Hern!

"No. Compared to places in Skyrim, this is quite comfortable. Some cities are in places where there is snow year around and never truly melts."

"It sounds like the Far North here. The snow never melts, direwolves still roam, wildlings from Beyond the Wall pop out of nowhere, and where the Night Watch has stood for 8,000 years," replied Catelyn somberly.

Serana thought of that for a moment. "Sounds a lot like home, actually. Though we don't have direwolves. We do however have bandits, Forsworn, lands of snow and ice, and the Companions have been around for a long time themselves. Plus, we have giants, mammoths, trolls, giant spiders, and all sorts of unpleasant things."

It was a part of the plan. To casually drop bits and pieces of their homelands here and there to see how the people here would react. So far with the Starks, they had taken it in with curiosity. They were taking it better than the Iron born had at first. Though word from there had said that things were rapidly progressing and hoped to hear from the Empire before long.

"You have many dangerous things in Skyrim! I'm amazed you and L-Hern are still alive," Catelyn remarked.

 _"You have no idea Catelyn. Those are only the smaller threats that are home,"_ Serana thought. "Yes, the roads can be dangerous, but that is why we are all trained in at least one weapon to defend ourselves. It truly is a shame Sansa does not wish to at least learn how to wield a knife," Serana said regretfully.

It was true to. Sansa, although the girl idolized being the 'fair maiden' had a hidden strength in her that most would overlook. Serana believed it could be honed and refined so that the girl could defend herself if it came down to it.

Catelyn laughed quietly. "Sansa is adamant about where she is going. Though I must thank you. As well as your husband and children. Before you came, Arya was never really happy and Brann, aside from his climbing, struggled learning weapons like his brother. Now, Arya is demanding to duel Robb to prove herself and Brann has the eyes of a hawk with that bow. Tell me, where _did_ Hern find such beautiful weapons?"

"He forged them himself. Hern learned from the best smiths in Skyrim and created much of his own weapons and armor as a result. And for those he trains personally, he forges them weapons specifically with them in mind. Lucia and Blaise both have swords with a slight curve to them that have herons engraved into them," responded Serana.

"Herons?"

"A sign that they have earned their swords. If Arya and Brann continue improving, Hern may put Herons on their weapons as well."

"They certainly take care of them, that I am sure of. But I do have one important question for you Serana," the Lady of the House said.

"Yes?"

"Have you heard from your husband yet on you carrying his child?"

Turning back to look out over the wall, Serana sighed. "Not yet. But I expect within the next day or two. Knowing him, he may have fainted the moment he understood the message."

Furrowing her brow in confusion, Catelyn wasn't sure what to make of the comment. "Are you serious?"

Laughing, Serana replied, "Oh yes. You should have seen him when he woke up from losing a drinking contest! He woke up in the middle of a Temple with items thrown all about!"

Catelyn was a little scandalized at such a thing. Sure, she understood that the Tamreilis believed in other gods, the Nine Divines and a group of others known as Daedric Princes, but for a man to wake up drunk in a temple?

Seeing Catelyn's shock, Serana quickly explained. "The priestess there was understanding. She made him clean up the mess he caused and that was that." Of course she left out the part where it had been a Temple of Dibella, the Goddess of Beauty and Love, all forms of love. Somethings were best left until later.

"Fair enough, I suppose. But how do you think Hern will react to this?"

Serana was silent for a good while. She was still unsure how she felt. She didn't want the child cursed or anything. But she couldn't help but wonder what an infant vampire or werewolf would be like. It was confusing.

"I believe he will be happy, once he snaps out of his shock," Serana replied.

"And yourself?"

Serana paused.

Catelyn gave Serana a knowing smile. "I know how it is. I think it is one of the few things I know that you do not. It won't be easy. And once the baby is born, then begins the real trouble."

Serana paled, more so than usual, at that, causing Catelyn to laugh a little more. "It's the wonders of motherhood. And seeing the way you and Hern raised Lucia and Blaise, I think the baby will be fine. Plus, you are lucky to have such supportive children."

"Why is that?"

"Because when Robb saw Sansa for the first time, he wanted her to 'go back whence she came!'"

Both women laughed into the night, enjoying the company.

Author's Note: After this point is when my writing will begin. It will take a while, but I won't leave you guys hanging.


End file.
